


Stand at the Edge

by misqueue



Category: Glee, Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: (no actual suicide), Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Barebacking, Bisexual Finn Hudson, Drama, Endgame Kurt/Blaine, Explicit Sexual Content, Finn Hudson/Quinn Fabray - Minor, Giant monsters, Grief/Mourning, Homophobic Bullying, Kurt Hummel & Mercedes Jones - Friendship, Kurt Hummel & Quinn Fabray - Friendship, Major Character Injury, Major character death - Freeform, Mecha, Mild Kink, Mild Painplay, Minor Finn/OFC, Multi, Neural Bonding, Pseudo-Incest, Romantic Finn/Kurt, Suicidal thoughts and behavior, mild violence, no infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-20 14:19:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 80,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misqueue/pseuds/misqueue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pacific Rim/Glee AU fusion. When humanity stands at the brink of the apocalypse, Kurt Hummel chooses to fight. But after he loses his stepbrother, what seemed certain is cast into doubt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please make sure you check out [the beautiful cover illustration](http://riverance.tumblr.com/post/132804316403/my-contribution-for-kurt-hummel-big-bang-2015-the) that [Riverance](http://riverance.tumblr.com) did for the story.
> 
> Especial thanks to [Stultiloquentia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Stultiloquentia/pseuds/Stultiloquentia) for her patient and tireless beta work. Any flaws remaining in the story are my own, and not due to her diligence.

**AUGUST 2013**

An eight year old Kurt Hummel lies on his stomach on the floor in the living room watching _Mulan_ on the Disney Channel. It's a Sunday morning. His Mom is in California visiting his Aunt Mildred, so his Dad decided they can skip church this morning. Kurt's dressed up anyway. He wears his favorite pinstriped gray trousers, black patent leather oxfords, and butterfly blue shirt. His lavender bow tie with the tiny white _fleurs de lis_ is snug at his throat, and his hair is neatly combed. They'll go out later for ice cream so Kurt can show off his outfit. But Kurt's glad to miss the droning sermons and pointlessness of Sunday School.

Singing along with _Mulan_ is so much better than singing hymns, and they're almost up to his favorite part.

"Hey, kiddo," his Dad says behind him. Distractedly, Kurt waves a hand for silence. He hears his Dad chuckle, and then a tray with a plate of syrup drenched waffles, a bowl of sliced bananas, and a glass of orange juice descends to the floor in front of him. They're toaster waffles, which his Dad always gives him when his Mom's away because Kurt loves his mother's made-from-scratch waffles, and therefore his Dad believes the ones from the freezer are actually a treat, but they're always like cold cardboard. Kurt knows how much his Dad likes to make him happy with them, though, so Kurt pretends they're special. "Breakfast," his Dad whispers.

"Shh," Kurt says, sitting up just as Shang begins to sing, _"Let's get down to business..."_ Kurt joins him on the next line.

Then the screen goes silent and blank. _"...the Huns,"_ rings out in Kurt's high, lone voice.

Kurt doesn't have time to get out an indignant protest before an ABC Breaking News banner takes over the bottom of the screen and Diane Sawyer appears, uncharacteristically wide-eyed and listening intently to her ear piece.

"We have this live footage coming in right now from the San Francisco Bay," Diane Sawyer says. "Following this morning's earthquake, there's a large— This seems impossible, but it appears to be some kind of creature..."

Her image is replaced by shaky aerial footage of this enormous creature—it's bigger than a ship, bigger than the buildings in downtown Lima, bigger than anything Kurt's ever seen. It's like a mountain with limbs and a mouth. It's hauling its massive bulk out of the sea, lumbering toward the Golden Gate Bridge. Kurt blinks at the TV screen. It can't be real, except there's still Diane Sawyer's voice trying to explain the inexplicable. Maybe it's a weird ad for a new monster show.

But then his Dad's cell phone rings, and it's his Mom. His Dad puts it on speaker. She says that she and Aunt Mildred are in Aunt Mildred's car. They're on the bridge, the Golden Gate Bridge, the one on the television screen. She can see the creature, and when it roars, they can hear it both on the TV and also through the tinny little phone speaker. Weird, horrible stereo—it sounds like metal tearing.

The traffic is stalled. She and Aunt Mildred are getting out of the car, they're going to run. She's crying; Kurt can tell by the way her voice keeps breaking and how she's having trouble finishing her sentences. Then, because she's crying, Kurt starts crying, and soon his Dad is crying too and sitting down on the floor with Kurt, and they all keep saying, "I love you," to each other over and over and over, and his Dad's arms are tight around him, and on the screen the monster is lifting a gigantic clawed foot out of the bay, reaching for the bridge. It can't be real.

"Elizabeth?" his Dad yells, like if he says it really loud, it'll reach Mom and stop the monster and everything will be... not what it is happening right now.

His mother doesn't say, "I love you," again. She doesn't say anything.

His Dad pulls Kurt against his chest, one large hand cupping Kurt's head against him, trying to turn Kurt's face away from the TV, but Kurt's gaze is drawn sideways anyway. He sees everything as his father's heart drums against his cheek.

*   *   *

The people on TV call the monster the Trespasser, and the footage plays on every channel, all day, every day. Six days, millions dead, a three mile wide path of destruction, and the military finally drops it with three tactical nukes. A great city destroyed. A nightmare from a B-grade science fiction film come to life.

*   *   *

There's no body. They have a memorial service on a day that is defiantly sunny and clear. Kurt wears a black suit just like his Dad's. It's brand new, and the fabric of the trousers is itchy against his legs. In one hand he holds one of his mother's handkerchiefs. It's fine white cotton embroidered with blue and purple hydrangeas. Kurt rubs his thumb over the long silk stitches forming the green leaves. His father holds his other hand. Kurt doesn't cry while all the adults are looking at him.

*   *   *

**SEPTEMBER 2013**

Kurt sits in his bedroom rearranging the furniture in his dollhouse, because the Power Rangers are moving out to go to the West Coast in case there's another monster. No one knows where it came from yet, so no one knows if there'll be another. He stops for a moment and looks at the small wood and velvet sofa he's holding in a too tight fist. He already snapped a leg off a dining chair today and ended up hysterically distraught over it. It's in the garage on his Dad's workbench, gently held in a padded vise while the wood glue dries overnight. Kurt still has a headache from crying too much.

He loosens his hold on the sofa and sets it down; then he goes downstairs to find his Dad.

His Dad is in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, staring at a thick cookbook open on the counter. There's a raw chicken in a roasting pan next to the stove, a pile of peeled potatoes sitting on the chopping board, some broccoli nearby in a plastic produce bag. "Do you need help?" Kurt asks.

It startles his Dad, who rubs his eyes against the shoulder of his shirt before he turns and gives Kurt a weak smile.

"Mom lets me cut the potatoes," Kurt says.

"Sure, buddy," his Dad says.

Kurt gets the stool from the pantry and drags it over to where the potatoes are. His Dad hands him a knife. It's the wrong one, a filleting knife, but Kurt doesn't correct his Dad's choice. He takes extra care cutting the potatoes into quarters for boiling.

Dinner's terrible. The chicken is raw near the bones, the mashed potatoes are lumpy and dry, and the broccoli ends up squishy, bitter, and grayish. They laugh about it, but it's strange and hollow feeling. Then they cry, his Dad hugs him, and they go out for burgers.

While they sit in the hard plastic chairs under the fluorescent lights with the french fries on the table between them, Kurt asks his Dad something that's been on his mind, "I was wondering, Dad. Could I take karate lessons?"

The look on his Dad's face, of complete shock, tells Kurt the answer before his Dad has to say it.

"I could give up ballet," Kurt says. Because his Dad knows how much Kurt loves ballet class, the offer should let his Dad know that he's serious.

But it doesn't make a difference. His Dad shakes his head sadly. "No, Kurt. I don't think that's a great idea. Maybe when you're older."

"Fine," Kurt says, even though he wants to argue, but arguing with his Dad doesn't feel right. Instead he sucks thick cold mouthfuls of chocolate milkshake up his straw until his cheeks ache and he has a cold headache, too.

Kurt ends up quitting ballet eventually anyway. He loses focus with it—his instructor says it's because he's too angry—and the joy leaves soon after that. His mother isn't there any more to smile proudly, and even though his Dad is good at pretending, Kurt knows he doesn't really get it.

*   *   *

It's weird how much adults don't talk about what happened in San Francisco. They do on the news still, but the people who bring their cars in to his Dad's shop don't. They never say anything to Kurt, even if he mentions his mother. Most of the time they change the subject.

At school, the kids do talk about it. They play. At recess, they build little cities out of dirt and twigs and stones to kick over and break themselves, as if they're the monsters. They laugh as they stomp and roar. It's cruel, but none of them lost anyone. They think it's like a Godzilla movie. None of them are Kurt's friends, so it shouldn't matter. Except sometimes it does, because sometimes they're mean to him, and now they have one more way to be mean.

He doesn't hesitate to punch Jimmy Leighton in the face when he stomps on a pile of sticks that was meant to be a bridge and says in a high-pitched taunt, "Oh no, there goes Kurt's mommy."

Kurt ends up in the principal's office. He won't apologize to Jimmy. His Dad picks him up, and Kurt's not allowed to go back to school for three days. As if that's punishment.

"I'm worried," his Dad says in the car. They're stopped at a red light. "It's not like you to hit another boy."

Kurt shrugs. He felt perfectly like himself in the moment the punch landed and erased the smug cruelty on Jimmy's face. He felt strong and brave.

"Did he call you names again?"

Kurt shakes his head.

"Kurt," his Dad says, and he sounds extremely tired.

"I'm sorry," Kurt says. "Not for punching Jimmy, but I didn't mean to disappoint you."

"Oh, buddy." His Dad's hand lands on his shoulder, heavy and warm. "I'm not disappointed. Don't ever think that. I love you."

"I love you too, Dad."

"I miss Mom too, you know."

"I know."

The traffic light turns green.

*   *   *

**FEBRUARY 2014**

A second monster, now officially dubbed a Kaiju, crawls out of the Pacific Ocean and into the Philippines, under the twin cover of night and a tropical storm. By the time officials understand what's happening, the beast has made it into Manila. There's no advance warning. It takes the government of the Philippines less than four hours to accept the US offer of a nuclear strike.

His Dad tries to stop him, but Kurt watches the television coverage anyway; he refuses to look away. And he wonders if there's a boy or girl like him somewhere, helplessly watching someone they love die on TV. He feels it's important to be a witness.

A second attack means the possibility of a third. The international community redoubles its efforts to find the origin point of the second monster—posthumously named Hundun after the primordial chaos of Chinese mythology. By tracking the toxic signature left by the creature, The Breach is discovered, east of the Philippines, at the bottom of Challenger Deep near Guam. There, on the floor of the deepest part of the ocean, is the portal to wherever these monsters spawn. Some say it's a portal to Hell and the Kaiju are demons, coming to punish humanity. A super-sized Scourge of God. Kurt's skeptical of the theological argument. Others believe they're simply lost animals, scared and confused by having wandered into such an unfamiliar and hostile environment. But, Kurt agrees with some of the more thoughtful voices, those who note that The Breach is not a natural occurrence, which implies someone or something is responsible for making it. The Kaiju may be exactly where they are meant to be. Humanity needs to be ready.

Warning buoys are placed and a monitoring station is established at the Mariana Islands. It's not much consolation, but at least humanity won't be surprised again.

There's nothing about it that's not horrifying: not only the devastation wreaked by the Kaiju and the high cost of taking them down, but the knowledge that more may come, that the attacks on San Francisco and Manila are the beginning of something new and terrible. Kurt has nightmares for a long time. He gets into a fist fight at school that leaves him with a split lip, a black eye, and a week long suspension.

His Dad finally lets him enroll in karate lessons, because he thinks Kurt needs a way to control his anger. Kurt already knows how to control his anger, because he's never not angry. What he wants is a direction. In the meantime, he'll learn to use his body to fight.

*   *   *

**NOVEMBER 2014**

When the Pan Pacific Defense Corps are founded after the third Kaiju attack, Kurt knows his direction.


	2. Chapter 2

**SEPTEMBER 2018**

The first day of high school, for all that Kurt's been racing himself to get here, dawns like many others. The school bus may arrive earlier, the kids may be older, but it's much like previous September Tuesdays after Labor Day. Kurt's overdressed. He never waits to wear the new autumn styles even though the heat of summer lingers stubbornly, growing ineffably stale as the days shorten. Walking from the bus, across the parking lot, toward the main entrance to William McKinley High School, Kurt is determinedly not perspiring in the clinging morning warmth.

That's when he hears the jeering voice come uncomfortably close behind him: "Hey, check out the new chick."

He closes his eyes for a moment, slows his next step, but doesn't stop. Of course a new school comes with new bullies. Kurt opens his eyes, rolls his shoulders back, and keeps walking.

"You are a chick, aren't you?" comes a second voice.

Kurt doesn't speed up, deepens his breathing instead. There's someone coming up on his right side. Kurt attends to his peripheral vision.

"Sure walks like a chick," says a third guy, and there's a note of suggestiveness in the words that prickles a chill up his neck. The guy is moving closer behind him, to his left. Ahead, at the edge of the parking lot, Kurt spots a dumpster. They think they're going to to herd him toward it.

Kurt's heartbeat remains steady when he stops suddenly and pivots on the toe of one polished black boot. The three guys halt abruptly too, rocking forward on their toes. Kurt hasn't attended karate over the summer in favor of summer school classes to give him a head start here, but his body responds naturally: his joints and muscles seek balance and loosen, his mind clears and his awareness expands. He hasn't hit anyone outside the dojo since he started sixth grade. Hasn't had to.

Calmly, he regards his pursuers. They wear letterman jackets but have not yet earned their letters. All three of them are much bigger than him, and older of course. Which makes this all the more pathetic. So it'll be all the more satisfying once they grant him an invitation to kick their asses. "Good morning, gentlemen," he says, courteously enough, but he never did quite master respectful, so it comes out a little sarcastic.

"An ugly chick," the second guy says looking Kurt up and down. He's heavy set, dark-skinned, and has mastered well the bully's hallmark expression of dismissive scorn.

"Dude, that's seriously your voice?" says guy one. He has a short mohawk, and when he puts his hands on his hips to sweep his jacket away from his chest, puffed up and crassly intimidating, Kurt can see the outline of a nipple ring through the material of his Metallica t-shirt.

Kurt lets go of the strap of his satchel, prepares to shift his weight to allow it to slide off his shoulder. Steps his feet apart, keeps his back straight, his arms still and ready.

The third guy tilts his head appraisingly and laughs. He's got a good six inches on Kurt, broad-shouldered and thick-necked—sports bizarrely thin eyebrows. "I can't tell if it's an ugly chick or a tiny little fa—"

"Hey!" comes a new voice from behind Kurt. He turns his head just far enough to see movement.

"Leave him alone," says the fourth guy. His tone is assertive, and there's a flash of red: another letterman jacket.

"Come on, we're just having a little fun with him," says guy one.

"And it was only just starting to get good," Kurt says with a touch of venom, this time sincerely.

The trio appears surprised, so Kurt smiles at them, sweetly as he can.

"Puck, Karofsky, Z? Go to class," the new guy says, and he steps into view beside Kurt. He's very tall but not bulky, fair skinned, dark haired. And, as Kurt's body informs him with a sudden swoop of blood from his brain to his belly, very handsome. Great.

"Later, princess," says guy one and steps back. Guy two rolls his eyes and turns away, and guy three winks and blows him a kiss before also turning and moving away with his friends.

"Those guys..." tall and handsome says with a trailing sigh. Then he looks at Kurt with a bright, slightly vacant, but very earnest and endearingly crooked smile. "Are you okay?"

Kurt hitches the strap of his bag up his shoulder and smooths the front of his jacket. It's a new season design by Marc Jacobs. Or, it's as close as Kurt could get with his sketchbook and sewing machine. "Yes, I'm fine, thank you," he says, aiming for prim, but it comes out breathless and even higher than usual. Blinking again takes effort.

"Finn Hudson," says the guy, unfazed and still smiling. He sticks out his hand toward Kurt.

Kurt stares at it for a moment before taking it. "Kurt Hummel," he says.

"Cool," Finn Hudson says and shakes Kurt's hand firmly twice before he lets go. "Welcome to McKinley. I'll see you around."

"Yeah..." Kurt says, and he stands there for a few seconds more while his heart tries to pump the blood back up to his brain, and he watches Finn Hudson walk toward the entrance to the school.

*   *   *

The morning periods drag with introductions and orientations and too long roll calls. There's no material to learn yet and only trivial homework assignments. In second period his phone vibrates in his breast pocket.

Between classes, Kurt finds a quiet corner in the library to check it, finds an alert for a Breach Event. It's barely been three months since the last one. Kurt bites his lip and his heart pounds as he quickly launches his twitter app. Goes to his saved #BreachEvent timeline. There's not much information yet: the time of record and one category II Kaiju being tracked, destination undetermined. All eight Shatterdomes are on alert, preparing to launch Jaegers. The PPDC has designated the Kaiju Miscreant. Kurt creates a new timeline for the tagged name, pockets his phone, and then gets himself to his next class. He arrives less than a minute after the bell rings.

*   *   *

At lunch, Kurt finds an empty table. Sets down his tray, but ignores the food in favor of getting out his phone to check for updates. The new Chinese Jaeger, Crimson Typhoon, has deployed in Hong Kong. She was completed just weeks ago, the first of the Mark-4 Jaegers. Unique with her three pilot crew and armament, they've touted her as uncommonly fast and nimble, due to new advances in both the large scale engineering and an enhanced neural connection between machine and human.

"Hey," comes a girl's voice, soft and a little tentative.

Kurt flicks a glance up. Recognizes the girl from his first period class where he'd admired her royal purple brocade waistcoat. She's smiling at him. "Hi," he says, smiles back.

"We had Geometry together this morning," she says, "I'm Mercedes."

"I remember," Kurt says. "I'm Kurt."

"Do you mind if I join you?"

"Go ahead," Kurt says, and turns his attention back to his phone. Follows a link to a PPDC livestream.

So she sits opposite him with her lunch. Kurt doesn't look up. On the tiny screen, the video jitters, blurred with motion. The helicopter hovers over Crimson Typhoon's shoulder, but the camera is pointed out toward the empty, dark swells of the ocean. The Kaiju hasn't surfaced yet. The pilots will know where the monster is, how close he is, how fast he's moving, his angle of attack. But Kurt doesn't know.

This part is the worst: the wait before the charge. The last breath before the curtain rises and everyone gets to see what manner of beast has arrived to try to destroy them this time.

"What are you so intent on?" Mercedes asks him. "Lolcats? Angry Birds? Funny YouTube?"

"No," Kurt says. His eyebrows rise with his gaze. "Breach Event. There's a Kaiju en route to Hong Kong. They've deployed the new Jaeger, Crimson Typhoon. It's her debut." Kurt turns the phone to angle the screen so Mercedes can see too. "I've got the live feed from one of the chase vehicles."

She doesn't look. Instead, she reaches out and pushes the phone back toward him. "No, thanks," she says. "I can't watch that stuff. Especially not while I'm trying to have lunch."

Kurt's mouth comes open for a dumbfounded moment. He swallows and finds his voice. "You don't follow the Kaiju attacks?"

She shakes her head and spears a potater tot with her fork. "It's too horrible, thinking about the people in those cities?" Mercedes shudders. "And there's nothing I can do. I'm just a kid in Ohio, so no, I don't follow them."

Kurt stares at her for one long moment, and then his attention is drawn back to his phone, where the livestream has stalled. Somewhere in the Pacific, Miscreant is barreling toward Hong Kong. And soon, one of them—Crimson Typhoon or Miscreant—will land the first blow. Kurt tabs to his Twitter app, refreshes to see the 287 new tweets tagged #Miscreant. Then he taps on the first one with a new still from one of the chase 'copters. Can't make out much but a bright golden flare. That'll be the new plasma caster the Chinese Jaeger engineers have been excited about. Which means the Kaiju is there, now. "It's happening anyway," Kurt says in a rush. Looks up at Mercedes, sees her frowning at him, her head cocked.

He explains, "Whether you watch it or not, this still happens. The monsters still attack. People still die. The Rangers still fight, to keep us safe—even if we're all the way back here in Ohio."

She shakes her head. "It's too scary and sad. All I can do is pray for us all, and I do most nights. But I can't deal with watching it and knowing."

"Then it's good there are people who can," he says, and it comes out snippier than he means it to. He's never been good at that, moderating his tone of voice.

But Mercedes laughs. "Oh my Lord," she says. "Please tell me you're not one of those crazy fanboys who thinks it's all romantic and glamorous to be a Ranger?"

The casual mockery he's used to, and Kurt doesn't confess his ambitions lightly. He knows what he looks like, what people think. His convictions, though, he's always ready to express them. Kurt presses his lips together for a moment while he collects the familiar words. He lifts his chin, and he speaks: "I believe it's important that we not look away from this. It's important to understand what's happening to us. It's important to honor the battle."

She shrugs and looks down at her plate, pushes a carrot stick toward her fish burger. "It doesn't change anything though, so why torture yourself with it?"

"My mother died in San Francisco on K-Day."

"Oh," she says and reaches across the table, puts her hand over his wrist. "I had no idea, Kurt. I'm so sorry."

He nods, looks down at her hand, dark and soft and warm upon his pale skin. Strangers rarely offer him comfort. People rarely touch him in friendship. But his eyes stay dry. An awkward silence settles between them. Kurt steals glances at his phone. The livestream stutters to life, but fails again quickly.

"Do you know Finn Hudson?" Mercedes asks him eventually. "Sophomore student council president? JV quarterback?"

Kurt's pulse flutters up near the root of his tongue. "I've met him," he says.

"You should talk to him sometime. I heard his father died in that attack too."

"Really?" Kurt's never met anyone else who lost someone then.

Mercedes nods. "Yeah, I heard he wants to enroll in the Jaeger program, train to be a pilot."

This information is a strange, unexpected thing. It makes Kurt's own plans for himself feel less like a weird little secret, even if he hasn't spoken them to Mercedes. But he also feels vaguely off, like despite his focus and goals, he's just a poser. Someone like Finn is clearly made for the program: athletic, charismatic, strong. Finn has a weight and agency in the world Kurt knows he lacks himself. He's striven hard to compensate with excellence in other areas, but someone like Finn, he just has it.

It doesn't help that the incident in the parking lot this morning left Kurt feeling small in a way he hasn't felt for a while. Alpha male jock rescues the nerdy little fairy? It's not the beginning to any kind of friendship that Kurt's ever seen. Pity, no matter how well intentioned, isn't a good foundation. "I doubt he'd want to talk to me," Kurt says.

"He's not like that. He's actually really nice to everyone."

"Huh," Kurt says and looks over at the table where the football jocks and cheerleaders are sitting, smiling and laughing together. Finn's there with them, well-liked and accessible.

"So what's your deal anyway?" Mercedes asks. "Rumor has it you're some kind of genius who's skipped a couple grades?"

"Huh?" Kurt says again, turning his attention back to Mercedes. Then he processes the question. "Third and ninth," he says.

"So you're a sophomore at... _thirteen_?"

He nods.

"Well that explains the baby face," she teases.

It's friendly, but Kurt doesn't laugh, just smiles thinly.

"Are you as smart as they say?" she asks.

"That depends on what they say."

"Well, you're in AP Geometry with me, so you must be pretty smart."

"Mostly I just work hard," Kurt says. He doesn't add that he finds geometry easy or that he simply doesn't have the time to waste. He intends to apply to the PPDC junior academy at fourteen—if his Dad approves and if his grades and extracurriculars are solid. It's competitive, and he wants to be as ready as possible. The Jaeger program needs engineers and mechanics as badly as they need pilots. With each attack, the Kaiju grow more cunning and strong, and each battle is harder fought.

Kurt looks back down at his phone, sees 412 new tweets, hopes the Wei Tang brothers are succeeding. Loads the updates, scans down the line of them to try to get the general picture. Most of the messages are unspecific, heartfelt wishes for Crimson Typhoon to deliver various violent endings to Miscreant. @HKShatterDm's latest, as of two minutes ago, is, "#CrimsonTyphoon engaged with #Miscreant in close quarters, all systems online. Plasma caster deployed. #PPDC"

"Are they winning?" Mercedes asks.

"Too soon to tell," Kurt says, fidgets, sliding his thumb up and down the glass of his phone, dragging the tweets back and forth in a blur. Thousands of miles away, those three pilots—not that much older than himself—are fighting a monster together for the very first time. No matter how heavy their armor and powerful their weaponry, it doesn't make it any less an act of sacrifice and courage.

"I'll pray for them," Mercedes says.

"Thanks," Kurt says though he doesn't believe there's anyone listening.

*   *   *

On his way to American History after lunch, there's some buzz in the halls about the attack. Crimson Typhoon performed well. The pilots had good control. Kurt's watched the highlights from the battle already, seen how the new Jaeger outclassed the Kaiju with the speed and ferocity of her attacks. The triplets already have a signature move: the Twittersphere has dubbed it the Thundercloud Formation. It's pretty cool. Kurt keeps his smile for himself.

Kurt pockets his phone and sits in an empty desk in the front row by the window. At the desk beside him comes a flash of red and a puff of too much freshly applied cologne. Aramis Classic, he thinks, which is, even in excess, a massive improvement from the muddled swamp of various Axe scents. Kurt glances up and catches Finn Hudson looking at him. "Hi," Kurt says on half-stunned impulse. "Uh... it's Finn, right?"

"Yeah," Finn says, squints at him comically and points with both index fingers, like some kind of 1950's caricature. "Kurt Hummel."

Kurt covers his mouth to hide his sudden, involuntary smile. He is not going to be ridiculous about this or get his hopes up. He doesn't need the distraction.

But Finn doesn't turn away after the basic pleasantries are exchanged. Instead he asks, "You're a sophomore?"

Kurt bends down toward his bag as his face heats beneath Finn's attention. He's been getting variations on the question all day, so he gives the quickest answer he can so Finn can stop pretending interest and get on with ignoring him. "Yeah, I skipped a couple grades."

"Lucky," Finn says with genuine envy. It's almost enough to make Kurt laugh.

"Mmm," Kurt replies and digs out his pens: black, blue, red, and green.

But Finn isn't done. "No one's given you any more trouble today I hope."

"No," Kurt says, straightens, and loses his smile. He needs to discourage this, for his own sanity as much as anything. "For what it's worth, while I appreciate your gallantry, I didn't need rescuing this morning. I can handle myself."

"Okay," Finn says, and he has the decency not to look too skeptical. "But not everyone can, and I figure, if I keep an eye out, it'll discourage that kind of stuff, and things won't escalate, you know? I don't want to see anyone getting hurt. Not on my watch."

"That... actually..." It's not even close to the answer Kurt expected. He lets himself look at Finn, tries harder to see, knowing what he knows: that he and Finn may share some scars. "That makes sense," Kurt says.

"So are we cool, Kurt?" Finn asks without the slightest trace of pity.

The glib sounding question is anything but. Kurt hesitates, evaluates. Maybe it will be worth it. "Yeah, we're cool," Kurt says, smiles, and Finn gives him another knee-weakening, sweetly crooked smile back. It's not fair.

The teacher comes in then, and Kurt is grateful for the excuse to turn his attention away from Finn and his distressingly handsome face. However, Kurt doesn't take much notice of the teacher's introductory remarks. He's too absorbed in considering again what Mercedes told him about Finn. Kurt decides: if an appropriate opportunity arises, he'll ask him about K-Day.


	3. Chapter 3

**OCTOBER 2018**

"I hope you like nontraditional styles of hummus," Kurt says. He balances the snack laden tray on one hand as he descends the basement stairs. "I tried a new recipe, it's got an Indian spice profile." He's got crudites and pita chips to go with the hummus, some water crackers and thinly sliced pears to go with a wedge of brie, a small dish of marinated olives, and a carafe of iced white tea. It's a bit incoherent, but it's his first time having a guest over, and he doesn't know what Mercedes likes. He wants to make a good impression. He has organic chocolate ice cream and homemade peanut butter cookies for later.

"I'm sure I'll like whatever that is," Mercedes says from where she's standing by Kurt's bookshelf, looking at his Jaeger models. "Did you build all these?" she asks, picking up one of the Japanese articulated models of Tacit Ronin. It's Kurt's favorite, but sometimes its left foot falls off.

"Yes," Kurt says. "Um, please be careful? Unlike their real life counterparts, the models are fragile."

She nods, turning the model gingerly and touching its arm to make it bend. The foot doesn't fall off. Kurt sets the tray of refreshments down on his glass topped desk by the stairs.

She puts Tacit Ronin down and picks up another, different Jaeger. This one's a Revell model, so it's immobile, but more highly detailed. Took longer to build and paint. The paint job's not great and one of the decals is set at the wrong angle; it was one of Kurt's first efforts.

"This is the American one, right?" Mercedes asks. "From the _Rolling Stone_ cover?"

"Yeah, that's Romeo Blue," Kurt says, he steps closer to stand beside her. "Piloted by Bruce and Trevin Gage."

"I remember seeing them on the Tonight Show," Mercedes says with a smile. "They're very dashing." She glances at him with a wink.

Kurt's face heats. He bites his tongue around the urge to tell her more about Romeo Blue and its pilots, the story of its construction, the fanfare when it was launched, its first deployment and victory over Hardship, the other Kaiju it's killed, the other Jaegers it’s fought beside. Says instead, neutrally, "I hear they're thinking about retiring. Too much radiation exposure."

"Well, I guess there's plenty of candidates waiting to take their place, huh?"

"I imagine so, yeah." Kurt shrugs instead of winces as he turns and goes to his bed to grab the spare pillows. He tosses them onto the floor where he's got his Geometry books stacked on his faux sheepskin rug. He knows Mercedes is trying to be friendly and interested, and he knows he keeps unwittingly killing the conversation because he doesn't know how to keep it going. Better to get to their homework. He decides to relocate the tray from his desk to the floor next to the rug and sits down on one of the pillows.

Mercedes sets Romeo Blue back on the shelf and scans his room once more, taking in the other details. Sees his sewing machine, which is currently pushed aside to make room for his model building supplies. "You sew too?"

"Not as much as I used to," he replies. He tries to think of a way to say something about fashion and personal style, since it may be something they have in common, but he gets tangled up wondering how best to uncreepily phrase a compliment on her hot pink zebra print leggings or her silver quaver earrings, and ends up saying nothing more.

She nods. "This is a pretty great room, Kurt," she says. "Having the whole basement to yourself. It's as big as some apartments."

"Thank you," he says and he's sure to smile. "Did you want to get started on our assignment?" It's long, but they've got the whole week. They've been encouraged to work in pairs and use whatever resources they find, so long as it's ultimately their own work. No copying off the internet. Though Kurt's not sure how their teacher will enforce that for all of the questions. A proof is a proof, right?

"Oh, yeah, I guess we should," Mercedes says, sighing through a smile of her own. She comes and sits with Kurt on the floor. He pours her a glass of tea. "What's first?"

"We're to give both a geometric proof and an algebraic proof for the Pythagorean Theorem," he says as he scans the first problem, "And explain our work in our own words as much as possible. Whatever that means, but it seems an easy place to start, a good warm up."

"Okay, so, you want to do one and I'll do the other, or do you want to work them out together?"

Kurt hasn't been accustomed to working with someone else, but he looks up at the shelf of Jaeger models—all built by himself, but piloted in reality by pairs. Considers too, his current struggle with simple conversation. He needs to be better at this. "Together," he answers.

"Great!" she says. She pulls her satchel into her lap and pulls out her notebook, opens it to a fresh page, puts it between them and draws in teal blue ink a right triangle, labels the sides, a, b, and c.

Some time later, the tray of food is down to crumbs, they've proved the Pythagorean theorem both ways. Kurt's checked their work against what he finds on the internet, and they've also successfully calculated pi to twenty-five places using a version of Archimedes' original method. The next problem is much tougher, a small model axiomatic system of pons and lins (and to the frustration of their intuition, they're not to be confused with points and lines) about which they need to prove—or disprove—three different theorems. It's time for a break.

"I have ice cream and cookies," Kurt says.

The stern concentration on Mercedes' face relaxes into a wide smile. "Then you are my new best friend," she says. She sits up straight and stretches her arms over her head, bending at the waist to loosen muscles stiff from hunching over their notebooks.

"Let's go up," Kurt says, and Mercedes helps him collect their dishes and crumpled napkins.

Upstairs, they take their ice cream and cookies out to the patio to enjoy the balmy autumn day. The sky spreads an unmarred cerulean above them, and a breeze from the south comes in gentle ruffles. The old maple tree is near its peak color for the season. Its leaves, lit crimson in the afternoon sun, rustle like soft paper. His mother's dog rose has lost the last of its pale pink petals and is laden with clusters of scarlet oblong hips. Kurt makes a mental note to himself to collect them this weekend—and find her recipe for rose hip jam.

"Hey," Mercedes says, "I wanted to say I'm glad you're my partner for this assignment. I usually hate working on this stuff with someone else because they want me to do all the work, but it's fun working with you."

"People don't usually want to work with me on group projects," Kurt says. He feels a little out of himself to say such a thing aloud. "So thank you for agreeing to be my partner."

"I had a feeling you'd pull your weight," she says. "You're one of the smart ones." Then she looks at him with serious consideration for a moment. "Is it lonely? Being the smart young kid in class?"

With a flush of discomfort at the praise, Kurt turns his attention down to his ice cream. A breeze infiltrates the collar of his shirt and sends a chill up his neck. "Sometimes," he says. "But I don't think that's the main reason. I don't know. I don't think I'd want to fit in, if the price of conformity is to be someone or something I'm not."

Mercedes nods and bites into a cookie, flinching to quickly catch the falling crumbs in her palm. After she swallows, she grins and says, "I know what you mean. It took me a while to be proud of the ways I'm different, but I wouldn't change anything about me now."

Emboldened by the mutual disclosure and gratitude, and before he can censor himself to silence, Kurt says "For what it's worth, I think you're fabulous."

"You too, boo." She grins and pats his hand.

The pet name gives him a shock of warmth to banish the chill; he's touched and embarrassment in equal portions. "Here's to not fitting in," Kurt says, raising his glass of tea. Mercedes toasts him.

They end up sitting outside longer than their intended thirty minute break, talking. Kurt learns about Mercedes' family, her dentist father, her older brother up in Massachusetts attending medical school, her mother's garden and her prize winning orchids. Her church choir and her love of singing. Her dream to make it out of Lima, to make a record and sing on bigger stages in bigger cities.

"Sounds like you have your life figured out," Kurt says.

"I have my dreams," she says. "What about you?"

"Oh," he says.

"I won't make fun," she says. "I promise."

A breath held in indecision and then a choice to trust. "You were right," Kurt says, and he looks up with his nose wrinkled in chagrin. "I do want to be a Ranger."

She nods like she expected that answer. "That's why you work so hard."

"Yeah, I mean, I know what kind of people they're looking for, and I'm doing my best to be more than—" He gestures at himself. "This."

"Hey, don't put yourself down," she says. "You're plenty, Kurt, and you're young. You're bound to have a growth spurt."

It's not all that reassuring, and he knows there's more to piloting than having the strength, endurance, and intelligence. "It's not only that," Kurt says. "The main thing they want—more than any other thing—is candidates who are—or can be—Drift compatible with someone. That's why there are so many teams of siblings and spouses and parents and children."

"Like the Romeo Blue twins," Mercedes says.

"Yes. I mean, people who are really good, really disciplined, can be compatible with almost anyone. I'm trying to keep my options open, because I don't think my Dad's going to want to pilot a Jaeger with me."

Mercedes laughs. "I'm sure you'll be able to do whatever you put your mind to."

"Thanks," Kurt says.

They go inside shortly after that, Mercedes rinses their ice cream bowls and passes them to Kurt to put in the dishwasher. They share the hand towel—one end each—to dry their hands.

The garage door rumbles while Kurt's sliding the tray up on top of the refrigerator and Mercedes is filling two glasses with fresh ice to take back downstairs. His Dad comes in from the garage, curiously pokes his head around the corner to say hi.

"Hey, Dad," Kurt says. "This is the, um—" He's not sure why the word _friend_ sticks a little in his throat; perhaps because it's such a rare word for him to use. "This is my friend I told you about, Mercedes. Mercedes this is my Dad."

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Hummel."

"I'd offer to shake your hand," his Dad says to Mercedes, "but I need to wash up. Kurt won't let me into the kitchen until I've degreased." He disappears around the corner again and Kurt hears the splatter of water in the laundry sink.

She looks at Kurt with a raised eyebrow, "Won't let?"

"Nope," Kurt says. "The kitchen is my domain, and I don't like greasy black fingerprints on the dishtowels and drawer-pulls."

"He's a pretty good cook," his Dad calls out. "If you want to stay for dinner, Mercedes. Since it's Friday. Unless you have other plans."

"I don't have plans." She looks at Kurt, who is both disconcerted at his father's forwardness and pleased by Mercedes' apparent interest.

"I'm making Chicken Parmigiana tonight. With salad and garlic bread. Nothing fancy, but it's better than Breadstix. You're most welcome to stay."

"You can join us for a game of Sorry after, too, if you like," his Dad says, coming into the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up, wiping his hands and forearms dry on an old green towel.

"That sounds like fun," she says. "Let me call my Mom and ask."

* * *

Monday, in American History class, the teacher hands back their most recent tests. Kurt's got an A+, as he expected. He glances over at Finn and sees a C on Finn's paper. Finn looks glum. And of course he would be, if he's interested in applying to the Jaeger program too, he'll need better grades than that. Finn notices Kurt noticing his paper, and Kurt sees Finn note his A+. He smiles at Kurt and roughly stuffs his own test paper in his backpack.

So Kurt's not surprised when, as they're leaving the classroom, Finn keeps near him in the hall. "Hey, Kurt?" he asks.

"Yes, Finn?"

"Um," Finn says. "I was wondering if I could ask a favor?"

"A favor?" Kurt says, makes a show of considering it, though he knows he's going to agree to it. "Is this a favor because you think I owe you for keeping those neanderthals off my back?" He aims to smile so Finn will know it's not a serious question. Not entirely. (Kurt does wonder.)

"No, dude. Not at all." Finn hitches his backpack higher on his shoulder and hunches lower, speaks more softly. "I just—I think I really need help with History, and, well, I saw your grade."

"Are you asking me to help you study?"

"Yeah, we have that paper due in two weeks and another quiz next Monday. I've got to get my grades up."

"I can help you," Kurt says.

"Great!" Finn says. "I'll um—" he stops walking. extends his hand palm up. "Can I have your phone for a sec?"

Kurt fishes his phone out from his breast pocket, unlocks it, and hands it to Finn. "You may."

"Cool wallpaper," Finn says as he takes it. "Tacit Ronin is a sexy machine." He raises his gaze to catch Kurt's and grins.

Kurt can't not smile more broadly in return. "Yeah," he says. "Three solo kills and still going strong. The Mark-1's are amazing."

Finn taps at Kurt's phone and then Kurt hears Finn's phone vibrate in his jacket pocket. They have each others' numbers.

"Coyote Tango is my favorite," Finn says. "The shoulder mounted mortar cannons are intense."

"Oh my god, yes. Coyote's a beast. Did you see the uncensored footage of the battle with Onibaba?"

And that's that. They talk all the way to Finn's next class—Shop—and Kurt has to run to Home Ec. Makes it through the door just as the bell rings. Can't stop smiling all through making cake from a mix, which is an insult to culinary education, but today he doesn't care. He steals an opportunity to look at his phone, go to the sent texts, and let his thumb linger over the one Finn typed: "Hi Finn's phone, this is Kurt's phone!"

* * *

It's Wednesday after school, and Kurt's Dad is waiting to drive him to Finn's house. Kurt's taking his time freshening up after the day. He's showered and changed. It's ridiculous to want to impress Finn, and he doubts he can, not like this. He's just a kid in Finn's eyes—and a boy. And it's not like Kurt wants a boyfriend. But still, he can't help himself from taking the time to find his softest skinny gray jeans to pair with a black turtleneck sweater. He even—though there's not a hair on his chin that requires shaving—opens the bottle of Yves St Laurent aftershave his Nana Hummel (rather optimistically and certainly prematurely) sent him for his last birthday. The scent is very grown-up, and he thinks the outfit makes him look older too, especially if he combs his hair back from his forehead.

In the foyer his Dad raises an eyebrow at him, taking in Kurt's outfit and grooming and says, "So is this kid's mom or dad going to be home when you get there?"

Kurt ignores the challenging quality of his father's attention. Just unhooks his coat and scarf from the hall stand. "Finn's father died in the first Kaiju attack too, Dad. And no, his mom won't be home from work until after five."

Kurt ties his scarf in the mirror by the door and sees behind him his Dad's grimace. "You sure it's a good idea to be hanging out unsupervised with a boy two years older than you, Kurt?"

"You don't worry about me hanging out alone with Mercedes. She's the same age." Kurt turns back to face his Dad and picks up his book bag from the floor and the jar of rose hip jam (a gift for Finn's mother) from the console table.

"Okay, fair point, but you know, I remember the kind of trouble me and my guy friends used to get into."

"We'll be studying the Constitutional Convention, not ordering a keg and strippers."

At that, his Dad laughs, and relents, spinning his keys into his palm with a clatter. "Okay, let's go, then." Kurt suspects he knows what his father's real concern is, but he's not ready to have that conversation. Kurt's fairly sure that Finn is straight anyway. He's got a different cheerleader hanging off his arm every week.

His Dad walks him to Finn's front door anyway—he wants to meet him. And Kurt does his best at nonchalance, as if this isn't his father sizing up a potential suitor or something equally absurd. It's not that, can't be that. But he's relieved when Finn is his usual somewhat awkward and charming self as he greets his Dad—wiping his hand off on the front of his shirt before shaking his hand and saying something about Kurt being, like, really smart, and promising solemnly there'll be no shenanigans. His Dad gives Kurt a final, sterner warning, to which Kurt rolls his eyes. And his Dad says he'll be back at six sharp to pick up Kurt.

* * *

They've got through an hour of study, and Finn's written an outline for his paper when he suggests breaking for food. "You like grilled cheese?" he asks.

"Sure," Kurt says, and he follows Finn into the tiny galley kitchen and watches Finn butter bread and unwrap slices of processed cheese. This might be the opportunity he's been waiting for to ask Finn about his Dad. The problem is, he doesn't know how to start. But when Finn starts humming an old Journey song and shaking his hips to an unheard beat, it might be the perfect opening.

"'Don't Stop Believin'?" Kurt asks.

Finn flashes him a bright grin. "Yep." And he clamps the grill down on a sandwich.

"My Mom loved that song," Kurt says.

"Me too," Finn says.

Kurt says, "She, uh, died on K-Day. She was in San Francisco. I heard—that is, Mercedes told me that your father did too."

Finn stops moving. He turns to face to Kurt. "K-Day plus three actually," Finn says. "I'm sorry about your Mom."

"She and my aunt were on the bridge," Kurt says. "Do you mind—I was wondering, what happened to your father?"

"He was a tank gunner with the 11th armored cavalry," Finn says. "We were stationed at Fort Irwin."

"Oh, wow," Kurt says. It's not what he expected. He knows the battle Finn's father would have been in. "He was a hero."

Finn nods. "His unit was ordered to withdraw, but the commander refused, because the Kaiju was turning north for Sacramento. He ordered the tanks to advance, to concentrate their fire on the thing's elbow. Even though..." Finn swallows. "They managed to slow it down and turn it back toward the sea. Saved some lives."

"Is that why you want to be a Ranger?" Kurt ventures.

Finn nods. "Live up to his example, you know? He'd still be fighting if he were alive."

"I want to be a Ranger too," Kurt says.

"Really?" Finn asks, and he looks at Kurt like Kurt just popped into existence. But there's no mockery in his tone. The incredulity though, Kurt's not sure how to read. He looks down at the toes of his Docs, notes a scuff to buff out when he gets home.

"Is it really that unbelievable?" he asks, risking a sidelong glance up.

"No, actually," Finn says, standing there with his greasy spatula brandished and the tacky eighties floral wallpaper behind him. "That makes total sense to me."

The words make Kurt's chest tighten, and he has to breathe very carefully before he trusts himself to speak again. "I can't imagine doing anything else, you know?"

"Yeah. Same here."

Finn's mom gets home about ten minutes before his Dad's scheduled to pick him up. She's warm and effusively welcoming, wears pleated acid wash jeans of approximately the same vintage as the kitchen wallpaper. She accepts the rose hip jam with surprised gratitude, asks Kurt what it goes best on. Fresh homemade scones would be his usual answer, but Carole Hudson—who insists Kurt call her Carole—despite her enthusiasm, has an air of harried fatigue marring the skin under her eyes, so he tells her it's really nice just on toast with butter. "It's good to eat when you have a cold too," he adds. "Lots of vitamin C."

The doorbell rings, and it's his Dad. Carole invites him inside, and the way his Dad and Carole look at each other—Kurt's not surprised when Carole invites them to stay for dinner: macaroni and cheese from a box, reheated meatloaf Carole made the previous night, and buttered green beans. She serves them incompletely thawed frozen cheesecake bars for dessert along with decaf Suisse Mocha instant coffee. Sitting around the casual kitchen table with Carole and Finn and his Dad, on a weeknight, after eating such unpretentious food, it's more than nice.


	4. Chapter 4

Finn gets a B+ on his history paper and wants to thank Kurt by taking him out for ice cream after school at the old seasonal Dairy Queen. If Kurt were more willing to indulge fanciful notions, he could almost pretend he'd been asked on his first date. It seems so retro romantic, going to the old 50's ice cream parlor after school. But Kurt knows it's not a date, and he's not so foolish to pretend. He accepts the invitation though, with pleasure, while standing at his locker at the end of the school day. Finn holds his history paper proudly and smiles with a kind of relief that strikes a familiar echo in Kurt's own bones. Kurt texts his Dad to let him know Finn will be bringing him home from school, so maybe his Dad could invite Carole for dinner? Then he follows Finn out to his rust accented Ford pickup, and they go.

The radio in Finn's truck doesn't have an iPod hookup and the CD player is on the fritz, Finn says, so Kurt dials through the expected patchwork of country and religious stations until he finds a classic rock station playing Bruce Springsteen, which Kurt suspects is to Finn's taste. Finn nods approvingly and sings along to "Dancing in the Dark".

 _"Message keeps getting clearer_  
_radio's on and I'm moving 'round the place_  
_I check my look in the mirror_  
_I wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face_

Kurt joins in more softly, fumbling the lyrics he doesn't entirely know, but Finn grins broadly to hear him.

 _Man I ain't getting nowhere_  
_I'm just living in a dump like this_  
_There's something happening somewhere_  
_baby I just know that there is"_

At the traffic lights Finn drums on the steering wheel with such exuberance, Kurt loses his breath with laughter.

*   *   *

"Actually," Kurt says, after they've got their orders and they've decided to head outside, wandering from the squat flat-roofed DQ and across the quiet parking lot. Their goal is a small square of grass upon which rests a handful of vacant picnic tables, sheltered beneath a small copse of trees. It's tucked in next to a shuttered hair salon with peeling hand painted signage. The wind kicks up a discarded DQ bag, and it skids and rolls across their path like some post-modern tumbleweed in an art house documentary. "I could use a favor from you now."

"Are those guys still giving you a hard time?" Finn asks, poking at the top of his Peanut Buster Parfait with his spoon. He frowns in quizzical concern.

"Not especially. Nothing I can't handle," Kurt says. Though they really haven't been bothering him that much. He wonders the degree to which he does have Finn to thank for that. But it's not germane to his current predicament. Kurt runs his hand over the wooden bench to check for splinters before seating himself and taking the lid off his Oreo Cheese Quake Blizzard. "It's for my application to the PPDC Junior Academy."

"I doubt there're any subjects I could help you with," Finn says.

"It's not academics I need help with, but extracurriculars. Particularly team sports. Not my forte, you understand."

"You're pretty small," Finn agrees.

"Yeah, well, no basketball or football for me, but what else? What do you think I could do? Realistically."

"There's swimming," Finn says, "or, um, baseball?"

Kurt wrinkles his nose at the thought of exposing his hair and skin to chlorinated water every day. "Not swimming," he says. And the stirrup pants are a strike against the baseball option.

"Or—you know, football might not be out. Our kicker majorly sucks. We haven't scored a field goal all season. They say it helps to be small when you're kicking. Can you kick a ball?"

"Well, I've definitely kicked balls before," Kurt says, making the innuendo clear with his look. Finn appears shocked for an instant, and then he cracks up, which makes Kurt grin. "Okay," Finn says, "We can maybe work with that."

*   *   *

The next day, Kurt meets Finn in the locker room after the final bell rings. No football practice is scheduled on Wednesdays, so they'll have the field to themselves. Finn's already in his practice gear, sans pads. Kurt's in his best approximation of such: old dance pants and a boatneck sweatshirt with a tank top underneath. Finn grabs a spare helmet and they head out to the field.

A handful of girls from the cross-country team are running laps, but aside from them, they're on their own. From the vantage point of standing on it, the field seems huge, overexposed. Finn gets them set up at the 20-yard line. He drops the ball holder on the ground and hands Kurt the ball. Says some stuff about points and downs and end zones that Kurt doesn't really follow. He just wants to try kicking the ball.

"Okay," Finn says, bending down to orient the squat bullet shaped holder correctly. "So you want to put the ball here." He indicates the central recess in the holder. "On its end, leaning toward you a little, with the laces facing the goal."

"Okay," Kurt says and places the ball as Finn described.

"Good, now, um, you want to step back about three steps and two to the side, which depends on which foot you want to kick with."

Finn walks him through the process a few times, offers to demonstrate even though Finn says he's terrible, couldn't even hit the proverbial broad side of a barn. "Two left feet," Finn says.

It goes well. Turns out Kurt's got enough coordination, strength, and precision to pick it up quickly. He makes four of the first ten goals he attempts.

"I think, with a few more practice runs, you'll be ready to try out in no time," Finn says as Kurt pulls off his borrowed helmet and rakes his fingers through his damp hair. "I'll talk to Coach Tanaka."

"Thank you," Kurt says. "That was kind of fun—more than I expected."

"Awesome," says Finn, and they head back to the locker room.

As they walk across the turf, Kurt looks up at Finn and wonders. "I get that you're a good guy," Kurt says. "Everyone says so. But why are you being so nice to me?"

Finn blinks at him. "We're friends aren't we, Kurt?"

Friends? The word lodges strangely in Kurt's chest. Warily, Kurt reminds him. "I don't need pity or a bodyguard you know. Those guys—I don't need you to protect me from them."

Finn shakes his head and stops walking. "It's not like that. I don't pity you. I think you're cool and brave, but I don't like how those guys talk to you, and I really don't like the way they talk _about_ you."

"How do you mean?" Kurt asks. His face goes a little numb.

"Just—the things they say because you're— Well, because they _think_ you're— Uh."

"They think I'm what?" Kurt asks. Even though he knows, he needs to hear it.

"Uh." Finn looks embarrassed, but Kurt's not sure why: because it sounds presumptuous or because it's a word Finn doesn't want to say? "You know. Gay?"

Kurt nods slowly. It's not a word he's often said out loud to himself. Hearing it from Finn's mouth is surprisingly validating. Cautiously he asks, "Would it make a difference to you if they were right?"

Finn frowns in confusion.

"If I were gay, would it change the way you see me?"

"No," Finn says so quickly, Kurt suspects the answer, if Finn thought about it, might be yes. Finn continues, "I just don't think they should be, like, assuming a thing like that about you. They barely know you, and you're a kid. How would you even know something like that about yourself?"

Kurt lets the silence stretch between them. Lets Finn think about what he's said. Lets himself think about what he's going to say. Decides. "A thing like that?" Kurt repeats. "Finn, I've known since I was five. I'm gay."

"You are?" Finn looks like he hit his head.

"You said it wouldn't change anything," Kurt reminds him, with a humourless smile. "Was that true?"

"Um, yeah... I just. I guess, I've never known anyone who was?"

"You'd probably be surprised," Kurt says wryly. "One in twenty people is."

Finn looks away, stares back across the mud-pocked grass of the football field and squints at the visitor stands, as if he's trying to think who else he knows. Or come up with some likely suspects. "Yeah, but, like, not in Ohio," he says at last, a little lamely.

Kurt laughs, sharp and sudden. Finn hesitates a moment, looking astonished still, but then—with the tacit permission of Kurt's laughter, joins him. Laughing together, it's nice. When they've calmed, Kurt blinks the excess feeling from his eyes and says, "You're the first person I've ever told."

Finn's silent for a moment, nodding slowly and still contemplating the distance. Eventually he looks back at Kurt, something softer in his gaze. "Is it a secret?"

"Well, given that I haven't even told my Dad yet? Kind of, yeah. I mean, I think he suspects, but I..." Kurt sighs all the air out of his lungs and all his energy and morale goes with it. "I don't want to confirm his suspicions and disappoint him."

"Your Dad's really cool though."

"He is," Kurt agrees. "But." He shrugs.

"But?"

"I don't know," Kurt says, and that makes him smile, amused at himself for being lost for words on this topic. He folds his arms across his chest to fend off the chill that's coming upon him as the warmth of exertion fades. "I'm scared of telling him. And it's not like it matters, really? I don't know any other guys who are—maybe I am the only gay kid in this stupid town—but even if I did know someone, it's not like I want a boyfriend, or want to be with whatever other random guy happens to be gay." The last feels like a partial falsehood as Kurt says it. Because, while it's true, he doesn't rationally want those things, he can't help but want them when he looks at Finn, as impossible as that may be. They start walking again.

"So why'd you tell me?" Finn asks. Sometimes he surprises Kurt. That's part of why Kurt likes him.

"Before," Kurt says. He smiles. "You said we were friends."

Finn smiles back so beautifully, it makes Kurt's heart ache.

*   *   *

**NOVEMBER 2018**

_"Today at 3:42 AM GMT, a Category II Kaiju designated Raythe by the PPDC station in the Marianas, was successfully intercepted by the Russian Jaeger, Cherno Alpha, while crossing the Okhotsk Sea. It's destination is believed to have been the port city of Magadan._

_"Stay tuned for our interview with Cherno Alpha's husband and wife team, Sasha and Alexis Kaidonovsky. We'll have that for you at the top of the hour. After three years of patrolling the Siberian Coast, this was the first direct engagement for the married Russian Rangers. But first, after the break, we'll have more details of that battle, including some exclusive footage obtained by CNN from one of our volunteer field reporters. It's pretty exciting, folks, you won't want to miss it!_

_Have any thoughts you want to share with us on twitter? Use the hashtag #CNNchats."_

Kurt bites his lip, punches record on the DVR, and then sends a reply to Finn's latest text (telling him Saturday practice is canceled) to tell him about the interview. Reluctantly, he sets the remote down and goes back to the kitchen where Mercedes is beating egg whites into stiff peaks for the meringue to top a cooling sweet potato pie. The pie is joined on the counter by a pumpkin pecan cheesecake, a spiced pumpkin cake with pecan streusel topping, a maple yogurt pound cake (Mercedes' Dad's recipe), and a plate of cinnamon glazed oatmeal cookies.

In the electric ice cream maker churns some nutmeg ice cream to pair with either cake. His Dad and Carole have been dating for a month now, and it's grown serious fast. They've been talking about a future together, and this year, at Thanksgiving, over dessert, his Dad is planning to invite Carole and Finn to move in with them. He's already got a quote from a contractor for an addition over the garage to be a new bedroom for Finn. The builder says he can have it all done before Christmas.

Kurt's in charge of finding the perfect dessert to accompany the proposal. He and Mercedes have been baking all weekend to test recipes. Mercedes flips off the power on the beater, dunks it in and out of the egg whites to check the quality of the peaks. "What's next on the list?" Mercedes asks.

"The apple-blackberry pie," Kurt says. "And we could finish with that if you think we've got enough options?" They've been holding off tasting anything until his Dad gets home this evening.

"We could already hold a bake sale with what we've got. I think we're safe to skip the cranberry bread pudding, the chocolate souffle, and the pear creme brulee."

"Agreed," Kurt says, his starting list was overly ambitious. He goes to the fridge to retrieve the chilled ball of shortcrust for the pie. The fruit for it is already prepped and waiting.

"So what do you think about all this anyway?" Mercedes asks.

"The fifty-thousand calorie pile of desserts we're responsible for?" he asks. "You know you're taking half of these home with you, right?"

"No, silly. Carole and Finn moving in with you all."

"Oh," Kurt says. He gets his rolling pin out of the drawer. He's somewhat ambivalent, inasmuch as it's all happening so fast. But he likes how his Dad is with Carole and he likes Carole. Living with Finn will be—enlightening, whether for good or ill. At least he talked his Dad out of having him and Finn share the basement. He suspects financial reasons may also be at play: cheaper for them both to share his Dad's mortgage than have Carole keep paying rent at her place. Ultimately though, Kurt smiles to think of it. "It's my Dad and Carole's decision, really," he says. "I can understand why they wouldn't want to wait."

"I think it's sweet," Mercedes says.

"Literally," says Kurt, and he knows he wouldn't be spending this much time wanting to make the moment special if he weren't hoping his Dad'll get a yes.

*   *   *

Carole does say yes, over a plate of pound cake, pie, and ice cream. Kurt gets the bottles of sparkling cider and Asti Spumante from the fridge so they can toast the good news.

*   *   *

The first day of Christmas holidays finds Kurt with a paint roller in his hand, putting a second coat of Cool Aqua on the walls of Finn's new bedroom. His Dad's putting Cloud White enamel on the built in shelves that frame the bed's location, and Finn and Carole are making another trip with the U-Haul back to their home. It occurs to Kurt that this might be one of the last easy opportunities he has to speak to his Dad alone. Time to jump.

"Dad?" he asks.

"Yep?"

It's been okay telling Finn and telling Mercedes. He doesn't preface his words with, 'please don't be disappointed but...' He says, casually, as conversationally as he can though his heart cringes. "You know I'm gay, right?"

The smooth sweeping sound of his father's paintbrush stops. The silence hangs for a moment. Kurt forces himself to keep rolling the paint up the wall. "Yeah," his Dad says. "I thought so."

"Really?" Kurt stops painting and turns. "You never said anything."

"Not my place, Kurt," his Dad says. He sets his paintbrush on the edge of the open paint can and looks at Kurt. "Your mother and I—we talked about it, before she died. You know, because of the ballet and the dollhouse and the sensible heels. But we didn't want to assume anything. Just wanted you to know you were loved no matter what. So we decided we would let you tell us in your own time, if you had something to tell."

"Oh," Kurt says. "You're not disappointed?"

His Dad shakes his head. "Not even a little bit, buddy. It's 2018, I'm proud of the man you are and the man you're becoming. Doesn't matter who you fall in love with."

"What about Carole?" he asks.

"She thinks you're great, something like this won't change that."

Kurt has to set down the paint roller. Carefully, in the pan. His vision is blurry and his heart feels weirdly cracked open, but not broken.

"Come here," his Dad says, steps across the spattered dropcloth and pulls him into a hug.

Through the cracked open window, they hear the rumble of the U-Haul as it pulls into the drive.

Kurt shudders as relief melts the tension in his body. His father's flannel shirt absorbs his tears.

*   *   *

The winter graduation from the Jaeger Academy at Kodiak Island is livestreamed in a Google Hangout. They're doing a Q&A via Twitter and Facebook, and some of the new Ranger graduates are stopping by to answer. With the four hour time difference between Alaska and Ohio, it means Finn and Kurt are having their dinner on their laps, in front of Kurt's desk, downstairs. They're huddled together in front of Kurt's keyboard while Quinn Fabray, who at age sixteen is the youngest commissioned Ranger yet, answers questions moderated by Rod Remington, a Fox field reporter who's made a name for himself interviewing Rangers in candid moments.

His quality as a journalist is debatable. Kurt and Finn roll their eyes simultanesouly when Rod asks Fabray a question about the trials of maintaining her manicure while working with heavy war machines.

"Ugh, someone needs to ask her a real question," Kurt says, and clicks into a compose new Tweet window and then stares at Finn. "What do you think we should ask?"

"Um," Finn makes a face as he thinks.

"How about..." Kurt types as he speaks the question: "Which aspects of Ranger training surprised you most?"

"Good one," Finn says.

Kurt addresses the tweet to @HotRodRemy, but, as he types the hashtag #IceboxQs, hears Rod Remington ask his next question: "Here's a question from B.D. Anderson on Facebook. He wants to know 'Did you find many challenges in the course that exceeded your expectations. How did you approach them?'"

"Damn," Kurt says. "That one's better than ours." He deletes the tweet and they listen to her answer.

*   *   *

**JANUARY 2019**

"Are you ever scared?" Kurt asks. He's lying on the floor in Finn's room, a pillow under his chest, with the game controller idle in his hands. They're home from school on a Tuesday. It's a snow day, which is giving them an opportunity to play the next level on the Jaeger sim Carole and his Dad got them as a joint Christmas gift. Finn's scrolling through the menu of weapons options in the Upgrade Your Jaeger screen. Kurt's been pushing for another melee option, but Finn's been indecisively swapping back and forth between rotary cannons or missile launchers.

Last week they submitted their applications to the PPDC Junior Academy. It was Kurt's first, and Finn's second. It's been on his mind.

Finn looks away from the screen. He's sitting on the floor too, cross-legged and barefoot with his back against the foot of his bed, "Scared of what?" he asks, and it's both so casual and so innocent, it makes Kurt laugh.

"Oh," Kurt says. "You know—anything, everything. The dark, monsters under the bed, not getting out of this town. The next Kaiju. The future." As he speaks, he lets his attention follow the lines of Finn's crossed calves, the faded denim of his jeans, the pale frayed hems that hang around his ankles. The surprisingly delicate bones of his feet, his long toes and smooth skin. It's weird, Kurt's sure, that he finds Finn's bare feet nice to look at. It's not like he has a foot fetish. But then Finn hums thoughtfully and Kurt looks back up to his face.

Finn's squinting and tilting his head, looking at Kurt. "I don't think I'm scared of those things."

"Lucky," Kurt says. He selects the rotary cannon option for no reason other than to give himself an excuse to look away.

"We're going to get out," Finn says. "Don't worry." He swaps to the missile launcher.

"Mmm," Kurt says. His application still looked poor when he sent it. Too much blank space, even with the additions of football and debate club that he's added this year. As well as some weekend volunteer work at the local no kill cat shelter. His academics are strong, but he still has to get through the interview and psych evaluation. His Dad'll be driving him and Finn to Dayton to meet with the PPDC recruiter this coming Monday.

"Are you worrying about your interview again?" Finn asks him.

"Duh," Kurt says. "They'll be evaluating my potential to be Drift compatible with someone else, and no matter what this _game_ tells me—" Kurt blows a stream of air up at his hair and drops his controller. "We can't even agree on our upgrade!"

"Well, that kind of attitude's not going to help you," Finn says with a grin. "But I know what might." He unfolds himself from the floor and half-steps, half-awkwardly-skips toward his bedroom door. "Leftover Christmas cake."

"The solution to all life's emotional turmoil," Kurt says and sits up.

"Exactly," Finn says. "You want egg nog too?"

*   *   *

The following Monday afternoon, on their way back to Lima from Dayton, neither cake nor egg nog are going to fix the mess Kurt made of his psych evaluation. He's sure he flunked it, if a psych eval is something a person can even flunk.

"I'm sure it didn't go as bad as you think," his Dad says from the driver's seat.

"I don't think arguing with the psychologist over his test methodology will have won me any points," Kurt says.

"Some of those questions were pretty personal," Finn says, twisting around from the passenger seat to look back at Kurt, who's slumped in the backseat.

"Some of the questions were pretty stupid," Kurt says.

"Maybe they'll like that you spoke up and challenged their questions? You know, it shows you're a smart kid and a free thinker," he Dad says.

"Or that I just have problems with authority."

"Do you have problems with authority, Kurt?" Finn asks, his curiosity is wide-eyed and feigned. Comical.

"No," Kurt says, and kicks the back of Finn's seat. "I just don't like it when people try to tell me what to do or try to stuff me in some dumb reductive box," Kurt says. He tries to match Finn's levity, but it comes out bitterly and he can taste tears on the back of his tongue. He covers his face and makes himself breathe evenly.

"Hey," his Dad says, concerned. "You okay?"

"Not really," Kurt says, drops his hands and meets the flash of his Dad's gaze in the rear-view mirror.

"Look," Finns says, reaching a hand back to squeeze Kurt's knee. "You did your best, right?"

Kurt shakes his head. "That’s the trouble, I don't think I did."

*   *   *

When they get home, Carole greets them with smiles and hugs until she sees Kurt's drooping shoulders. She hugs him again, and says, "Oh, honey."

"I don't want to talk about it right now," Kurt says, and he goes down to his room. He likes Carole a lot. She's fun and kind, but she's not Kurt's mother. Kurt feels mean for withdrawing from her concern, but today, her affection feels like the universe is taunting him.

Carole brings his dinner to him, shake and bake chicken breasts, mashed potatoes, corn on the cob, and creamed spinach, which he usually enjoys, but his appetite is poor. He eats it all anyway. Doesn't reply to Mercedes' text asking him how it went. He'll see her tomorrow.

He spends the evening trimming and assembling pieces of his newest model off their sprues. It's the Japanese kit for the newest Jaeger, still under construction, Striker Eureka: the first Mark-5. The ANZAC branch of the PPDC spent a purported one hundred billion on her. She's going to be the fastest yet. His heart feels like a hole in his chest. Maybe he'll never get the chance to drive a Jaeger, all he'll have are these toys and this awful blank space in his chest.


	5. Chapter 5

**JUNE 2019**

Summer break begins with a thunderstorm, ripping open the cloud bellies above the McKinley parking lot and releasing a deluge. Another record June for rainfall the meteorologists are predicting, and it's got started early. In his hand, Kurt's phone blinks orange with a severe thunderstorm warning. He's facing the whitespace of summer with all the anticipation of a dental appointment. Kurt stands still in the hall amidst the stream of students who rush out into the falling water and slap across the puddles on the asphalt with their bags and books held over their heads.

He and Mercedes are meant to be going to the mall for some retail therapy. Kurt hitches his bag on his shoulder and turns at the waist, searching the crowd of oncoming students. He spies Mercedes at the far end of the hall, waving to get his attention. She gestures in the direction of the library. He turns against the flood and goes to her. They can wait out the storm in the library. Overstay the final bell of the year.

Finn'll be off to get ready for an end of year house party the Cheerios are hosting. He invited Kurt to come with him and Brandy Lewis (the current girl he's sort of dating, and head cheerio), but it's never been Kurt's crowd, not even when he was on the football team. Kurt doesn't think Finn expected a yes, anyway. Just asked to be polite. Anyway, spending time with Finn right now is awkward. He wants to be happy for Finn, but he's too much upset with himself—and he doesn't like feeling jealous.

The librarian has already turned off most of the lights when he and Mercedes go in with the stacks. The immediate silence along with the air conditioned relief of humidity eases some of the tension in Kurt's spine.

"So what's Plan B?" he asks Mercedes. They sit at a table near the door, where the light from the hall comes in through the glass. They're opposite the periodicals rack. From the cover of _Time_ , Quinn Fabray smiles like a movie star. "Romeo's New Juliet," reads the tagline. Reminders of his personal failure abound.

Mercedes pulls out her tablet and earbuds. "We can watch some Netflix while the storm passes?" she says. "I don't want to drive in that."

Kurt shrugs.

"Okay," Mercedes says, a little impatiently, but not unkindly. "That wasn't an encouraging response. You have a better idea?"

"Not really," Kurt says, and lets his bag slip off his shoulder to land with a soft _thunk_ on the floor beside his chair.

"I tell you what we need a plan for—getting you out of this funk you've been in since you got your letter."

Kurt makes a noise like a deflating balloon. His forehead clunks against the tabletop.

"It's the beginning of summer break, you should be happy to have all this free time ahead of you."

"Should be," Kurt says. "I don't need the free time. I'd hoped to be getting ready to go to Alaska this summer. The problem is, I don't have a plan B. I didn't allow for the possibility I'd bomb my interview and have my application rejected."

"Well," Mercedes says. "You're young, it's not like you're running out of time. Didn't you say this was Finn's second application? You can apply again next year, right?"

"I could," he says provisionally. Though he's not sure how an application and interview next year will be stronger than this year. And the clock is running, all the time. Counting down to the next Breach Event. Just because he's stalled, doesn't mean the world's going to wait for him.

"Look, if you're meant to pilot a Jaeger, I'm sure you will. And if you don't, that's not the end of the road for you. Have some faith, that whether you do or don't, there's a path for you, and you'll find it so long as you keep looking. Don't give up."

Kurt groans. "You know I don't believe in that stuff."

"You don't have to believe in God for it to be true," she says. Her certainty rankles. It's not the first time they've had a heated discussion over faith—and Kurt's lack.

Given his current mood, Kurt knows he should let it go without arguing, because arguing with Mercedes about religion just annoys them both, but today, the notion of a divine plan seems like little more than an affirmation of the cruelty of the universe. "If God has a plan that entails all of this? Then he's kind of an asshole," Kurt says.

"Hey," Mercedes says sharply, frowning. "That's not what I said."

"Do you know how many people tried to tell me my mother dying was part of God's plan? Like that was supposed to be some kind of consolation? Do you really believe a loving God is responsible for her death? For all the others, for the Kaiju coming here?"

Mercedes doesn't reply immediately, and when she does she speaks softly. "There is evil and suffering in the world, that's true. But, Kurt, I'd never tell you something like that."

"Then what would you tell me?"

"I'd say that even though God knows everything that will happen, that doesn't mean we don't have choices, because God trusts us with our own freedom. It's when we make bad choices that we suffer. The evil in the world comes through us, not God."

"Are you saying we invited the Kaiju, somehow, through making bad decisions? Please don't tell me you're one of the people who think God sent them to punish humanity for our sins."

"No, I don't believe that. I don't know why the Kaiju are here, Kurt," she says. "All I do know is that every challenge we face, whether as individuals or as a civilization, can be an opportunity for us to learn and then choose better for ourselves."

Kurt nods silently. "So you think I still have better choices to make?"

"Yes, I do," she says, and she grins, cajoling. "Like you could choose to sign up with me for the Musical Theatre summer camp in Cleveland this summer. It's not too late."

"I'm not sure how that helps gets me into the Jaeger program," he says wryly, but he smiles.

"Then approach this summer the same way you would've if you'd got in. You've had a week to mope, now put that funk away and get your head back in the game."

She's right. "I'll do my best," he says.

*   *   *

So it's back to Plan A. He and Finn work at the tire shop during the days, he starts going to the local gym with Finn three nights a week, starts lifting weights with him. Evenings after the gym, they study Jaeger system manuals, and Kurt tries to teach himself and Finn Calculus. On the weekends they go their separate ways. Kurt goes to the Mall with Mercedes or they go downtown to the little art museum, browse second-hand shops, and have picnics by the river. On those days, he looks around Lima and silently does his best to imagine staying.

His father proposes to Carole in July. He comes home from work at the regular time, but instead of coming in through the garage, he rings the doorbell. When she answers, he drops to one knee on the doorstep and presents her with a ring. Of course, she says yes.

That Finn's now destined to become his stepbrother makes the matter of Kurt's crush on Finn feel like a dirty secret. Dirtier, anyway. It's increasingly difficult some days at the gym with him. Spotting Finn on the bench press while he lifts, flushed and breathless and gazing up at Kurt with such intense concentration—surely any healthy young gay man would find it erotic.

It's not only the flex of his arms as he lifts, but also the way the exercise shapes his body over the weeks of summer: his shoulders grow broader, his belly flatter, and his rear end tighter. Kurt's certain he shouldn't be noticing Finn's rear end for any reason, but in the tiny nylon shorts Finn wears to the gym, it's hard to ignore.

Kurt's subconscious agrees. The dreams of Finn that wake Kurt, tangled in sweaty, semen streaked sheets, let him know puberty is in full swing.

If only the rest of him would get the memo. His musculature, in contrast to his libido, lags. His body stubbornly clings to its preteen softness despite Kurt's gym efforts, calendar age, and nocturnal aspirations. Finn's aware of Kurt's frustration at the lack of results, encourages him as best he can. Which is sweet. But it's still unnerving when, one day, as Kurt's coming out of the shower room at the gym, towel around his waist, Finn looks up at him, stares, and declares, "Hey, you have abs!"

"What?" Kurt stops and stares down at himself. "I'm pretty sure it's still just the one."

"No, dude," Finn says. He gets up and approaches Kurt, takes him by the arm and drags him over to stand in front of a full length mirror. Tugs and turns him until he's lit up by a steep sunbeam streaming in from one of the locker room’s high windows. "Abs," Finn says, standing behind Kurt with his hands on his shoulders.

Kurt raises a skeptical eyebrow at Finn's reflection. Finn rolls his eyes. "Here, look," he says and he drops one hand to Kurt's belly. His touch is light, and Kurt's muscles quiver at the ticklish contact. He can't breathe while watching Finn's hand on his bare skin—Finn's long fingers tracing the nascent shape of his abdominal muscles to show Kurt.

"Oh..." Kurt says, and he doesn't dare meet either his own gaze or Finn's. He's flushing, can see the way his neck's going blotchy.

"See?" Finn says, and his hand falls away. Kurt wonders if he felt how hot Kurt's becoming, if he felt his hammering heartbeat.

"Yeah," Kurt says robotically. "Right, okay." He pulls away, rushes to his locker so he can cover himself before his response becomes even more conspicuous. Finn doesn't say anything, and Kurt vows to himself he won't do anything to encourage a repeat.

That doesn't mean he forgets. Late at night with his door locked, he sheds his pajamas and lies in bed with his eyes closed. He maps the lines of his belly and imagines Finn standing behind him, complimenting his body. Finn's hand caressing his skin; Finn, then, loosening his towel until it falls to the floor; and finally, Finn's hand closing around his dick and—

It becomes Kurt's favorite fantasy.

*   *   *

The CNN news graphic that leads in the Breaking News Update is spinning animated text: Gipsy Danger vs. Clawhook in San Diego!!!

It's the three exclamation points that do it. Kurt sighs and flips to The Weather Channel, which—bizarrely—has been offering some of the better coverage on TV. Kaiju are like storms in a way.

"Finn!" Kurt calls out.

They watch together. Gipsy Danger deploys alongside Romeo Blue and Matador Fury. Clawhook doesn't make it past the ten mile mark. The three Jaeger team has complimentary capability, and rookie Ranger Quinn Fabray and her veteran co-pilot Santana Lopez, perform admirably in Romeo Blue.

The buzz on social media is enchanted and enthusiastic.

The next day, one of Kurt's favorite vloggers out west, Marley Rose, does an interview with Quinn Fabray at the LA Shatterdome, gets her fresh off the victory. Fabray is a gracious and serious interviewee. Places the credit with all three crews and the support staff at the LA Shatterdome who oversaw the battle logistics. She explains in detail the tactical choices and teamwork, and she compliments, in particular, Lopez's experience piloting Romeo with Fabray's predecessor, David Martinez (who left the PPDC with honors after a back injury). They'd been an effective team ever since the Gage twins retired. "Truly," Quinn says, "There were three people in that Conn-Pod today."

*   *   *

The Friday after Clawhook’s attack—and, really, the studio couldn't have planned it better if they'd tried—Kurt goes with Finn and Mercedes to the Lima premiere of _A Heart Adrift_ , the summer's eagerly anticipated big budget Ranger Romance starring the rising stars of popular acting duo, Rachel Berry and Jesse St. James. The young stars have been making the transition from standard romantic comedy fare to more dramatic topical pictures.

During the movie, caught in the emotion of Rachel's character as she farewells her east coast bound lover, Kurt realizes he's been so absorbed in losing his opportunity to attend the Junior Academy this year, he hasn't prepared himself for losing Finn: not to the war, but to the distance. He's going to be so far away in Alaska.

It infiltrates his mind for the next week, and he grows irritable with everyone. Mercedes chides him for snapping at her while they're picking out a birthday gift for Mercedes' mother. His Dad has a stern word with him after he gets impatient with Carole over dinner planning, and worst of all, he starts snipping at Finn over their Calculus study.

"What the hell, Kurt?" Finn asks him. "This stuff is hard for me, you know that."

"I'm sorry," Kurt says, and he goes to the kitchen to cool off and get apology cookies and milk. Comes back and sits quietly beside Finn at the dining table. Watches him work through a problem set of trigonometric derivatives without offering criticism or help unless or until Finn asks.

"I'm going to miss you so much when you leave," he finally blurts.

Finn lifts his head and drops his pencil. Blinks confusedly at Kurt's outburst. "I'll miss you too," he says, like it's obvious.

"You'll be too busy to miss me," Kurt says and bites his lip until it stops trembling. "It's just... you know you're my best friend, right?" He wants to reach out and touch Finn so badly.

"What about Mercedes?" Finn asks. He doesn't get it.

And there's no reason he should. "Okay, co-best friend," Kurt concedes, and he smiles weakly. "I mean it though, I'm going to miss you every day," he says. The words that want to trip off his tongue next are too ridiculous. Even though he could say them and tell Finn he means it as a friend or as a brother. _I love you_ means more than that to his heart. He looks down at his hand, resting on the edge of the table, moves it to touch Finn's forearm near his watch. It seems a safe enough touch.

"Dude," Finn says, and he doesn't move his arm away from Kurt's hand. "Are you crying?"

Kurt shakes his head before he realizes, yes, maybe a little bit. He sniffs. "No, I've just been chopping onions."

"Oh, geez," Finn says with affectionate exasperation. He scoots his chair back with a loud graunch, leans over, pulls Kurt into a hug. "Look, I'll call you and text you and I'll tweet every day. We'll keep in touch, all right? There's no way I couldn't have got this far without you. You'll apply again next year, right?"

Kurt turns his face into Finn's neck and hangs on. "Right," he says.

"I love you, man," Finn says, squeezes and lets go.

Kurt's lips are numb when he says, "Me too."

*   *   *

In August, Kurt's father collapses at work. A blood clot in his heart, from arrhythmia that had gone undiagnosed and untreated. He lies in a hospital bed for a week in a coma. The doctors don't know if he'll wake.

Finn should have been on a plane to Alaska last week, but he and Carole take turns sitting next to Kurt. Mercedes offers prayers and brings Kurt dinner from home. Soup and sandwiches her mother made. Cheesecake from Breadstix.

Burt does wake, blessedly. Weak and muddled, but the doctors say there's no sign of permanent damage to his brain.

The day Finn's leaving—he can't put it off any longer without forfeiting his position—his Dad and Carole marry in the hospital chapel. Kurt brings his father's best suit from home and goes shopping with Carole that morning for a simple white dress she'll be able to wear again.

They have their reception outside in the small garden behind the hospital. Mercedes looks beautiful in a purple dress, and Finn is handsome in a tuxedo, even a rented one. Kurt wishes they'd had more time to plan something amazing. As it is he does some modest decorating with floral arrangements Mercedes' mom helps him puts together from her garden, and he buys a cake from the best bakery downtown. It's not a wedding cake, technically, but the bakery adds a topper and pipes violets around the edges of the white buttercream. One of his Dad's nurses has a boyfriend who knows his way around a camera. He comes and does some photos for them.

And then, the sad cap to a happy day. That evening, Finn gets in a taxi to take him to the airport. Kurt wants to go with him, just to say good bye there, but Finn asks him not to. His eyes are bright with tears when he hugs everyone farewell. He hands Kurt his bagged suit to return to the rental place and hefts his backpack onto his shoulder. He looks at Kurt for a long time and Kurt looks back. He reaches out one hand. Kurt reaches back. Finn squeezes Kurt's hand, and Kurt starts crying again. "I'll see you all at Christmas," Finn says.

*   *   *

Back to school at McKinley, this year without Finn. Kurt walks the corridors between classes with his spine straight and his head up. He doesn't make eye contact with anyone but Mercedes and his teachers. Hopes if he can glide through the spaces of McKinley as if he's untouchable, he will be.

Behind him, Finn's left a power vacuum. A special election for student council chooses Stoner Brett as their new class president. Mercedes tells Kurt he should have run, could've got a boost by being Finn's step-brother. Finn's success in attending the Junior Academy gets its share of buzz; his name is spoken like he's a local celebrity. Not simply known, but now, somehow remote, as if he never was truly here. People who escape the small town trap, their past presence in the town seems to dissolve into something like myth. Whatever goodness Finn had inspired while he was here, has left with him.

In Finn's absence, too, the taunts and the locker checks resume. Every Monday morning, he's stalked across the parking lot. He keeps well away from the dumpster, ignores them as best he can. Gets shoved on the stairs hard enough to drop his books. Kurt shakes it off, picks up his books, and walks on, though his anger burns deep, banked embers waiting for the morning.

After all, the comments he received on his rejection letter mentioned too much impulsivity and anger. Jaeger pilots need control, and taking too much anger into the Drift can be dangerous. So he's working on it. Thinks about returning to the dojo, but it's been a while, and he'd hate to disappoint Mr. Harada with how his skills have slipped.

Finn sends postcards every week. They usually arrive on Wednesday. The texting and phonecalls aren't as frequent as promised. Finn's either busy or he's wiped out and catching up on sleep. The times he does call, it's usually because he's having trouble with homework, and, due to the time difference, Kurt stays up well into the small hours of the morning helping him get through.

It's good preparation, Finn tells him, for when Kurt gets there. Helping Finn will give him a head start, because Kurt's surely working on a second application, right?

"Right," Kurt says. He has the forms in his desk drawer. He hasn't even written his name and address on them, and he's taken down his recruitment poster from over his desk.

Summer turns to Fall and Fall withers toward Winter. Striker Eureka is launched in Sydney. Burt and Carole finally go on their honeymoon, a five day cruise to Mexico. The Atlantic side of things. Kurt still worries. What if a Kaiju passes over Central America? What if Panama doesn't intercept?

Kurt stays at Mercedes' house for the week they're gone. They return with suntans and smiles and gifts. And an onyx carving of the Mexican Jaeger, Matador Fury, for Kurt. He adds it to his shelf.

The situation at school with his bullies escalates despite Kurt's best efforts. Maybe it's because he's not responding the way they want him to. The first cold morning of December, they pelt him with urine filled balloons on his way from his car.

Kurt stops walking. Hears the assholes giggling behind him. He lets his rage billow up in his belly, fill his chest with something more powerful than oxygen. He turns to face them, keeps his expression blank and his tone frigid. "Throw one more of those at me and I promise you, it'll be the last thing you ever throw."

They laugh at him and shove past him. Kurt watches them go into the school and then he goes back to his car, strips off his stinking soaked jacket which took the brunt of the assault, puts it in the trunk wrapped in an old towel. Can't do much about his hair or his pants. Sits on a plastic shopping bag and drives himself home. Doesn't let himself cry until his clothes are in the wash and he's in the shower. He punches the tile wall and screams as loud as he can.

*   *   *

He gets out of the shower and sees his phone flashing with a notification. He expects a text or a missed call, but it's a Breach Event.

The Kaiju's headed for Manila. and it's a big one—the first ever Category IV. It's codenamed Apophis.

A three Jaeger strike group drops to meet it: the American Mark-3 Gipsy Danger, and two veteran Mark-1 machines, China's Horizon Brave and the ANZAC's Lucky Seven.

Kurt takes his phone to the family room and turns on the television to see if they're covering it live on CNN. They are.

CNN reports the serpentine Kaiju weighs in around 3,000 tonnes. It's eel quick, and the Jaegers struggle to land blows or pin it down. Until it shoots out of the water and coils around Horizon Brave, trapping the Jaeger's arms to its sides. Brave's cryo cannons light up, readying a flash freeze attack. Like a python, Apophis squeezes, crumpling—without rupturing—the condenser tanks that power Brave's cryo attacks. Then the Kaiju lands the killing blow, sinking its teeth into the Conn-Pod, and Horizon Brave goes limp within the Kaiju's hold. Gipsy takes the opportunity to come in with its plasma caster, blowing the flexible body of the Kaiju into a splatter of glowing blue gore. Lucky Seven decapitates what's left and still moving. The whole fight lasts less than three minutes.

The news coverage lasts all day. It's the first time a Jaeger has fallen. With the loss of Horizon Brave and its crew, Lo Hin Shen and Xichi Po, the victory is a hollow one.

The reporter in Manila promises live interviews with Hercules and Scott Hansen, the Lucky Seven Rangers, after. The reporter gives a recap of the pilots' biographies. Hercules lost his wife in the fourth Kaiju attack on Sydney, and as a RAAF pilot, he's been fighting the Kaiju since that day, was one of the first pilots to join the Jaeger program. Herc's son Chuck started at the Jaeger academy this past year.

They're in their Drivesuits. Behind them, on the beach, their Jaeger stands. Scott, the younger brother, looks uncharacteristically shaken. Herc steps up to the microphone.

Just then, Kurt's phone rings. It's Finn. "Hello," Kurt says, and he turns down the volume on the television.

"Are you watching this?" Finn asks.

"Yeah," Kurt says. "I'm at home."

"Unbelievable," Finns says.

"It is," Kurt says. "Terrible."

They watch together, speaking little, just offering each other company. Kurt wishes he could think of something reassuring to say, but in truth, Finn just feels far too far away.

Later, Kurt lies in bed and wonders at the focus of the Kaiju's strike. It's almost like it sacrificed itself just to take out Horizon Brave. But if that’s true, then the implications are terrible. Regardless, it's hard to see the Kaiju as the instinct driven animals the public assumes them to be.

*   *   *

He's not sure exactly when it starts, but Karofsky has—on his own—started following Kurt between classes. Each period, Kurt steps into the hall and the hair in the back of his neck prickles. Karofsky will be standing nearby, and he sends Kurt a little wave and a leering grin when Kurt spots him. Kurt, for his part, just rolls his eyes, puts his nose in the air and walks. Ignores Karofsky best he can. At least there hasn't been another incident with pee balloons, though he's sure the egging of his house was a job by the Three Pucksateers (as Kurt's taken to calling them in his head).

Today Karofsky walks right behind him. Close enough Kurt can smell his cheap bodyspray. Kurt stops at his locker; every muscle in his body waits while his fingers unhurriedly dial his lock. Karofsky leans in behind him, his breath tickles Kurt's neck, but Kurt doesn't let himself shudder.

"Hi, princess," Karofsky whispers. Then he withdraws, and Kurt starts to relax.

But before Kurt can even unhook his lock from the latch, he's hit between his shoulder blades hard; Karofsky slams him face first into the bank of lockers.

Kurt's on the ground before he realizes what's happened. People step over his legs, barely notice. He sees the back of Karofsky's jacket receding, and the broad red square of it fans the slow smolder of Kurt's anger. He curses himself for his carelessness, gets to his feet, and pelts down the crowded hall after him. "Hey!"

He skids and rounds the corner. Closes his hand over Karofsky's heavy shoulder, yanks hard to pull him up short. Karofsky turns and Kurt takes a step back. He's trembling and doesn't want to be. Tries to remember how to stand, relaxed and ready to defend himself. The muscle memory isn't gone entirely. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Kurt demands. He flexes his hands at his sides. "You fucking troglodyte."

"I'm more of a man than you'll ever be," Karofsky spits.

"You think picking on me makes you a man? Wow," Kurt says. "That's pathetic, even for you. You must really hate yourself."

"So what are you going to do about it? Huh? You can't do anything."

"Touch me again, and you'll find out exactly what I can do," Kurt says.

"Oooo, I'm so sca~ared," Karofsky says, with a high voice and a flop of his wrist. "Later, Fancy," he growls, and he turns his back on Kurt.

It'd be so easy. So easy to kick his fat ugly ass right there. But they've gathered a small crowd of curious onlookers. A concerned teacher peers out of a classroom. Kurt walks away.

*   *   *

New Year's Eve they have a party at home. Finn's home. Mercedes and her family—brother included—are there. The guys from the shop and their families. Carole's family from Zanesville. Her friends from work.

It's quiet for a New Year's party, which suits Kurt. He's never felt particularly celebratory at the turn of the year. But it's good to have Finn home, though Finn is currently talking with some of his old school friends. Brandy Lewis, former head Cheerio, is there—Finn dated her on and off through their sophomore year, but it never seemed serious. She's here because her Mom works with Carole. She's wearing a short sequined red dress that shows off her legs and her boobs. Kurt doesn't miss the way Finn's gaze drops to her cleavage when she's not making eye contact with him. He sips his sparkling cider and looks for Mercedes.

Finds her in the kitchen helping his Dad plate mini samosas and spring rolls that've just come out of the oven. It looks like they'll need another platter, so Kurt gets one and helps.

"Hey, boo," Mercedes says to him. "You look handsome tonight."

It's what Kurt needed to hear. "And you look gorgeous," he says, and he wishes for a moment he liked girls that way, because he's one hundred and ten percent sure he'd be head over heels for Mercedes. And then he wouldn't care about Finn gawking at Brandy Lewis' boobs. Mercedes' boobs are better anyway.

At the strike of midnight, he and Mercedes share a kiss, chaste and brief. He sees Finn and Brandy lock lips with more enthusiasm. Mercedes sees him watching them. Kurt shrugs it off. "Finn could do better," he says.

Later he sneaks two glasses of champagne for him and Mercedes. People have started going home, so they find a quiet spot on the loveseat in the family room. Kurt takes a long swallow of champagne. "I saw Finn taking Brandy upstairs. I don't know if I can handle the thought of him... with her. She's shallow and mean," he says. "Ugh."

Mercedes makes a sympathetic face of disgust. "Do you want to grab a plate of those mini cheesecakes and go down to your room? Queue up something trashy on Netflix?"

*   *   *

January and February limp by, short dark days of cold gray skies and packed snow and slush. Each day indistinguishable from the next. Kurt feels just as stalled as the weather.

February 29, Kurt remembers the exact moment. It's just after eleven that night, he's in the laundry room treating a Slushie stain on a McQueen scarf, when his phone buzzes with an alert from the Los Angeles Shatterdome. A Category III Kaiju, Knifehead, has crawled out of the breach and is slithering up the west coast. Romeo Blue is in the best position to intercept, but after a tense cat and mouse that lasts for hours, LOCCENT Los Angeles loses the Kaiju. Romeo Blue's sensors can't track it. That's new.

At four AM Ohio time, Gipsy Danger sorties from the Shatterdome in Anchorage to intercept.

It doesn't go well.

The Kaiju dies, but Gipsy Danger appears lost. Anchorage loses track of her signal. Overnight, it's too dark for the Search and Rescue teams to find her. They wait until morning to start the search for her wreck. To see if the pilots survived. It doesn't look hopeful.

*   *   *

The next day at school, Karofsky follows Kurt into the bathroom between classes. Kurt sets his bag down and turns to face his enemy. Karofsky steps closer and closer. Kurt doesn't move. Doesn't speak to aggravate the situation, just stands there, blazing with fury, silently daring—hoping—for Karofsky to start something.

Since the incident at his locker, Kurt's been practicing. Working through katas in his room every morning and every evening. Reminding his body what it knows how to do.

"Go ahead," Kurt says. He lifts his chin. Waits for the punch. Wants it, the bruise to prove the abuse before he drops Karofsky like a narcoleptic bull.

Karofsky doesn't hit him. He grabs Kurt by both shoulders, slams him against the wall, leans in and— Kurt expects a taunt or a threat as Karofsky leans closer. Instead of speaking, he sniffs at Kurt and leers. Kurt's opening his mouth to call him a degenerate weirdo when Karofsky kisses him.

The shock of having Karofsky's (fat, wet, gross) tongue in his mouth freezes Kurt for an instant. He recovers quickly, shoves Karofsky off him with all his strength. And he doesn't stop. He gathers his focus, his balance, his determination, and he strikes: one swift punch to Karofsky's solar plexus, delivered with all the power and precision Kurt can summon. It lands perfectly.

Karofsky stumbles back with a terrific _oof!_ He crumples to his knees with his mouth gaping open, wheezing in fitful spasms, trying to regain the breath Kurt punched out of him. Kurt steps forward, and Karofsky's eyes widen with stunned fear. "Not so tough after all, huh?" Kurt asks him. He sets a booted foot against Karofsky's chest and shoves him hard into the urinals. His skull makes a satisfying crack against the porcelain. "I should ask you to beg for my mercy, hmm?"

The only reply Kurt gets is a grating, airless hiccup. Karofsky's eyes flood with tears.

Pitiless, Kurt steps closer, grabs him by the collar. "You sad sick fuck, how about we make a deal?"  
Karofsky whimpers.

"You and your friends don't so much as _breathe_ on me again, and I won't fucking kill you."

Weakly, Karofsky nods. Kurt lets go of him and steps back toward the door. "I'll tell the school nurse where to find you."

*   *   *

Karofsky ends up with a teacher driving him to the emergency room, and Kurt goes to the principal's office. Waits calmly, hands folded in his lap, while they call his Dad. He closes his eyes, replays the fight, asks himself if he'd do anything differently. Knee Karofsky in the face most likely.

"Kurt!" His Dad's voice rouses him.

Kurt opens his eyes. His Dad is wide-eyed and a little pale. And immediately Kurt's stomach sickens with guilt. With his Dad's heart the way it is—he shouldn't be adding stress to his day. He hadn't even been thinking about his Dad's health.

"I'm fine, Dad," he says and stands, holds his arms to his sides to show that he is, himself, unscathed.

"Hey," his Dad says, takes his shoulder. Though it's gentle, Kurt wants to shrug it off. His skin still feels prickly.

"What happened?" his Dad asks. "They said you got in a fight?"

"I only defended myself," Kurt says. He smooths his shirt front and turns when he hears the click of the principal's door. His Dad takes his hat off, rubs over his head and tugs his cap back on, follows Kurt into the office.

*   *   *

A two week suspension for him. No punishment for Karofsky but the humiliation of having his ass handed to him by a boy half his size. Two weeks should be enough time for word to get around to the others not to mess with him. Or two weeks will be the perfect amount of time for the neanderthals to plot their revenge.

The silence in the car is heavy. His Dad sighs and stops at a red light. Kurt stares out the window at the shabby plastic strip mall sign. He feels eight years old again.

"Why didn't you tell anyone sooner that this kid was bothering you?"

Bothering hardly covers it. "Because I can take care of myself," Kurt says. He interlaces his fingers together in his lap so he won't touch his mouth.

"I thought we were done with this," his Dad says. "Done with you getting into fights."

"Tell that to the guys who harass me."

"Kurt," his Dad says. "You don't have to fight them. There are other ways."

"Do you honestly believe any of the teachers at that school give a shit about what those guys do to me?"

"Hey—watch your language."

"Sorry."

"Are you?"

Kurt says nothing. It's the same answer as it’s always been.

"We've been doing so well," his Dad says at last. "Is this because Finn's gone? You know a two week suspension isn't going to look good on your next application."

"That's fine, because I'm not going to apply again."

Another sigh from his Dad. "Okay," said in the provisional tone that means his father doesn't believe him but understands more talk will be fruitless. Kurt's not got enough energy left to be annoyed by that.

*   *   *

Kurt's lying on his bed in the dim gray of his room staring at the nonsense patterns in the plaster on his ceiling. Upstairs the doorbell rings. The floorboards creak, and the door latch snaps. The mumble of his Dad's greeting and Mercedes voice in polite querying response filter through the floor.

More footsteps over his head, moving from carpet to the hardwood. A knock at the top of the stairs.

"Come in," Kurt calls.

"Hey, Kurt," she says. Soft and cautious, like she's entering the room of an invalid and is uncertain of the state in which she'll find him.

Kurt rubs his mouth—even after washing his face and brushing his teeth twice, his skin still creeps with the memory. He sits up, and flicks on his bedside lamp. "Hi," he says.

"I brought your homework from your afternoon classes," she says, slips some papers out of her bag, lays them on his desk, on top of his closed laptop.

"Thanks," he says.

"Two week suspension, huh?"

"Yep," he says. "I'm grounded too."

"Yeah, your Dad said. I'm not supposed to stay long." She purses her lips. It looks, for an instant, like disapproval.

"Are you going to judge me?" he asks.

"That's not my place," she says, subdued. "But I know how those guys have been treating you this year."

Mercedes sympathy shouldn't surprise him, but it does, in that part of himself that would, perhaps, relish judgment, because that's something he could rail against. Instead, she offers this, a kind understanding and grace. "It's not just this year," he says, the weariness of it sinking into his bones as he says it. "It's been... for so long. Guys like him have been around me my whole life."

"You don't usually hit them though, do you? What was different about today?" she asks.

"He followed me into the bathroom," Kurt says. "Part of me wanted him to, you know? Follow me, thinking he'd got me. He's so arrogant. I wanted him to believe he was going to bail me up in a corner and beat me up. I wanted him to give me a reason to punch that stupid leer off his face. Punch the words right out of his mouth. Make it so he'd leave me alone for good."

"He started it, then?"

Kurt nods, says, "But he didn't hit me."

Mercedes frowns. "But you hit him. Pretty hard from what I hear."

"I did," Kurt says. "Sent him crying to the emergency room." Can't quash the flare of pride that bends his lips.

"Yeah, I heard that too," she says, returns his smile with a small, pinched one of her own.

"He kissed me," Kurt says, just blurts it out. "He grabbed me by the shoulders, shoved me against the wall, and kissed me."

"Oh my god," she says. Covers her mouth with one hand.

The burn and blur of tears gather in Kurt's eyes. He tips his head back and blinks to contain them.

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry." Mercedes sets her bag aside and moves to the bed, wraps an arm around him. "Do you think—? Kurt, do you think he might be—?"

"No," Kurt says to the ceiling. "He's a hateful asshole who wanted to punish me in the worst way his pea brain could come up with. If I hadn't been able to fight back—" He can't finish the thought or the sentence.

"Ugh," she says, and shudders. "Did you tell the principal what he did? And your Dad?"

"Not that part," Kurt says, sniffs, and makes himself look at her. "Just you."

She rubs circles between his shoulders, and they sit quietly for a few moments. Until his Dad calls down the stairs, "Time's up. Mercedes?"

With an apologetic wince, Mercedes' hand falls away. "I've got to go, I'm so sorry. Can I call you tonight, or has your Dad taken your phone?"

"I don't have my phone or any internet," Kurt says. "Dad changed the password."

"Then I'll come by tomorrow, same as today, okay? Bring you your work."

"Thanks," he says, reaches for and squeezes her hand before she stands up. Walks behind her up the stairs and waves as she pulls out of the driveway.

When Kurt turns, he sees his Dad standing in the open doorway behind him, holding the front door open. He beckons to Kurt to come back in. Looks at Kurt's face and his eyes soften. "Carole's on shift 'til late. You want to get burgers for dinner?"

"Thought I was grounded."

"We'll go through the drive-thru."

"Burgers are bad for your heart," Kurt says.

"I'll order the fake chicken vegan thing, okay?"

Kurt dredges up a weak smile. "Okay."


	6. Chapter 6

A few days later, Kurt's in the kitchen shredding romaine lettuce for a chopped salad. A snail-mail letter to Finn lies on the kitchen island, half-written. The worst part of being grounded is the daily e-mail he sends Finn must now be handwritten letters. The content is perpetually out of date.

"So I talked to a guy," his Dad says from the laundry.

"Sounds enlightening," Kurt replies.

"Haha," his Dad says, coming into the kitchen. "Let me finish will you? Before you sass me?"

"All right," Kurt says. "Fine."

"So I talked to a guy at the old tank plant."

"Okay," Kurt says.

"You know they don't just make tanks anymore, right? They make parts for some of those Jaegers."

"Do they?" He didn't actually know that. Feels like he should have.

"Yeah," his Dad says. "You interested?"

"Interested? In what?"

"A job," his Dad says.

Kurt sets the knife down and stares at him.

"Look," his Dad says. "I know you want to be doing something more than—" He waves his hands around. "This. You want to be making a difference, like Finn is."

Kurt doesn't want to talk about Finn. He clenches his jaw, turns away.

"Kurt, you are way too young to be this bitter."

He sighs, ungrits his teeth. "Heavy industry though?"

"Well, you know, you have some mechanical experience working at the tire shop. You're smart and good with your hands. When you turn fifteen in a couple months, I figured, this could be a good outlet for you. They have more jobs that need doing than working on the line."

*   *   *

_"All right, if you've been following the news today, then you know the UN had a vote this afternoon to approve funding for what's being dubbed The Wall of Life. It's an ambitious project, this Anti-Kaiju Wall that will be going up along Pacific coastlines around the world. Very ambitious._

_But funding it has meant some hefty budget cuts to the Jaeger program, which has taken some big hits already in the past six months, losing two Jaegers and three Rangers in battles against Kaiju, who are, increasingly, stronger, faster, and more frequent. Now the Mark-5 program is on hold, all of its money diverted to the Wall of Life project, leaving Striker Eureka the first—and only—Mark-5 Jaeger, and possibly, now, the last._

_"Among my guests tonight are Dr. Jasper Shoenfeld, the man responsible for the inception of the Jaeger program, and former PPDC Ranger and current PPDC Marshal Stacker Pentecost, who oversees operations at the Anchorage Shatterdome and remains a staunch advocate for the efficacy of the Jaegers and the necessity of fighting to end the Kaiju threat. Welcome, gentlemen."_

_"Thank you, Rachel, it's a pleasure to be here," Dr. Shoenfeld says._

_"And finally, here to convince me that building this wall is not only possible and practical, but also will render the Jaeger program obsolete and keep us all safe, is Ohio Representative Miller, who heads the Joint American Pacific Defense Committee in the House of Representatives. His committee is responsible for the allocation of US funding to the North, Central, and South American arm of the Jaeger program. They oversee the contributions of the United States to operations from Anchorage, Alaska to Lima, Peru. Currently, we, in the Americas have ten Jaegers in four Shatterdomes supported by thousands of people working in diverse and challenging jobs with one goal: to keep us safe. They haven't failed us yet."_

After Rachel Maddow's interview is over, his Dad pauses the TV and turns to Kurt. "That guy's from our district right?"

"Yes, unfortunately."

"He's a god damn idiot."

*   *   *

The week after his fifteenth birthday, Kurt prints out his CV, dresses in classic Levis 501 jeans, a green checked button down, and a lightweight brown leather racing jacket—he looks like he stepped out of the Eddie Bauer catalog. But he knows how the advice goes: dress for the job you want. The people at the Lima Tank Plant—now the Lima Joint Systems Manufactorum—won't appreciate his aspirations to European and east coast fashionability. Better to respect the history here and remain modest. The plant was founded in 1941, and in 1942 started building American tanks to fight in Europe. Through the 1980's the first M1's were built here: 30 every month. Now, its unique capability contributes to the Kaiju War.

His Dad lets him drive—the plant is southwest of downtown Lima, so it's a good test of Kurt's skills, with his newly minted learner's permit. Driving into the main entrance of the Manufactorum, with an M1 Abrams mounted on a platform on his left, and a replica of Gipsy Danger's foot on a platform to his right, gives Kurt a sense of real possibility and excitement. His Dad waits in the car while Kurt goes in to meet with the manager in charge of hiring, Sheldon Beiste.

Mr. Beiste takes him into a square beige office overlooking the train tracks, "I got to admit," Mr. Beiste says, "I don't see many kids as young as you wanting to come work here, but your Dad convinced me you've got an interest. But I want to hear it from you, why do you want to work here?"

After the disaster of his PPDC interview, Kurt keeps his answers direct, simple, and humble. "I've wanted to help out with the Jaeger program ever since Brawler Yukon took out Karloff, sir. My stepbrother's in Alaska at the Junior Academy, so discovering there are ways, right here in Lima, I can help support both him and the program, I want to contribute in any way I can."

Mr. Beiste gives him a nodding smile at the answer. He goes on to explain the shift work schedule, and Kurt explains he's still at school for a few weeks. They discuss a part time job in the main office doing inventory database maintenance until Kurt's free for full time work. It's hardly a dream job, but it's refreshing to find some success after so many setbacks. Nice to know, too, that the recent funding cuts haven't affected the majority of the work here, which is replacement parts for the Jaegers currently in service in North America.

Then he gets the grand tour. His Dad comes along for this. Outside, Sheldon Beiste calls an electric golf cart for them. They buzz between buildings, past mounds of ore, like the foothills of some invisible mountain range.

The scale of it is, frankly, awesome. The machinery to build the even bigger machines towers up toward the lofty ceilings amid the heat and fire of the crucibles of molten metal, it's like some image of primordial Hell—or Hephaestus' forges. Here they build real titans. It's hot and dirty and—even wearing protective ear muffs—thunderously loud.

In another factory shed, scaled for giants, Kurt gets his first close look at real Jaeger parts. Unpolished and fresh from their casting. Still too hot to touch. He can only stand at a safe distance and admire. He doesn't need to be told what they are, for he easily recognizes the six replacement barrels for the Peres rotary cannons in Romeo Blue's chest. Longer than a tractor trailer, the 180mm caliber barrels fire shells, not bullets. Kurt could fit his arm down one of the barrels. Best of all, they're not tiny plastic pieces, but the full scale of reality.

Better yet, at the end of the tour, he gets to run his hands over a polished, finished reactive armor plate destined for Mammoth Apostle's right shoulder. It hasn't got its coat of royal blue paint yet—that will happen when it gets to the Los Angeles Shatterdome. For now it rests in a wide padded crate, waiting to be loaded on a high speed train heading west. He stares at the way the pattern of his fingerprints lingers on the surface of it, looks at his bowed reflection in the curve of metal, and decides he definitely wants to do this.

*   *   *

**JUNE 2020**

School finished two weeks ago, and Kurt's into his third week at the Manufactorum. The tail of the school year tapered off uneventfully. Karofsky never returned—transferred elsewhere, declared the rumor mill. Azimio and Puck and their fellows refrained from much more than menacing glares in the hallway. Each of which Kurt met with a cold stare back. All in all, it's been an anticlimax. Part of him still aches to give them all the same treatment he gave Karofsky. But he's trying to recover his equilibrium, trying to get up in the morning with more purpose than his anger. He has things to look forward to: Finn's coming home for the summer on Saturday, and he has his new job that's about making a difference.

Granted, it's mostly sitting on his ass behind a desk, in a dreary little portable with four other desk workers. The burnt orange industrial carpet and plasticky looking wood print paneling are half a century out of date, and the computers they work on are approximately half that age.

So the times he gets to escape the fluorescent tube lighting and the tinny country music that plays softly and continuously from office mate Brenda's leaky headphones, the times he gets to don a hardhat and safety glasses and go into the big warehouses with a tablet and an IR scanner, or walk the sweltering ranks of crucibles, or watch the complex interplay of enormous robotic arms coordinating and assembling composite pieces—those are his favorite hours of his day. But what he's looking forward to most this Friday in June, is that Finn is coming home tomorrow, and Kurt has the weekend off so he'll be able to go with Carole to the airport to pick him up.

All week he's been daydreaming with anticipation. Planning outings and brunches and dinners at home, queuing up films and shows on Netflix that Finn's missed while being up in Alaska. Occasionally fantasizing about improbable romantic scenarios resulting from the more practical planning. Mostly innocent: sitting with Finn during a movie, in the cinema, sharing popcorn and milk duds. He imagines how Finn's knuckles would brush his knee or his wrist with enough frequency and lingering pressure that it couldn't be an accident. How Kurt would move his hand, open palmed, to intercept and invite Finn's to stay. The tentative curl of their fingers together and their hushed held breaths as the simple touch of hands shifted the axis of their world.

It's silly how often his mind turns to imagining it, filling in every tiny detail he can think of: the way the flickering light of the screen would reflect in Finn's eyes, how the sound of the movie would fade into distorted meaninglessness as Kurt's heartbeat thundered in his ears, how he would look at Finn and how Finn would look back, the shape of Finn's lips as he breathed. Knowing that Finn would kiss him the moment they were alone. In the car maybe. It's stupid how much he wants it.

So he tries to focus on the things that are actually attainable in reality. They can go to the movies together. They can plan a family picnic. They can go to the Zoo, and they can stop for ice cream on the way home. They can go to the free summer concerts down by the river. Or to the local theater troupe's summer Shakespeare production. They can have barbecues and invite friends around. There's so much they can do together, Kurt doesn't want to dwell too much on the things they can't.

An attainable goal, then, is to have the perfect welcome home for Finn when they get back to the house from the airport. Friday night, he showers and heads down to the kitchen after dinner. He makes two batches of Finn's favorite cookies—peanut butter chocolate chip—brews a big jug of sweet tea with a vanilla teabag thrown in for extra flavor, and he sorts through his Netflix queue again, moving lighter fare up to the top. Finn'll probably be too tired and happy to be home to want to go on outings straight away. He dusts off Finn's X-box and scrolls through pages of reviews on Metacritic to determine what hot new games Finn may've missed. He gets Scrabble and Sorry and Clue out of the hall closet and puts them on the mantle. Plans to make a big pot of Finn's favorite Cincinnati style chili and spaghetti for dinner, with the cookies and homemade vanilla ice cream for dessert.

Saturday morning, he helps Carole air out Finn's room, change his sheets, dust and vacuum. Picks some tiger lilies from the garden to put on his dresser. Then it's time to go to the airport.

Finn's more handsome than ever, tall, long legged and broad shouldered. He's looking slimmer and stronger, his face more chiseled, his smile more sure. He strides over to Kurt and Carole, drops his backpack off his shoulder and pulls Carole into a long, tight hug. Then still grinning, turns and pulls Kurt in, "Hey, little brother," he says and ruffles Kurt's hair.

"Less little than I was," Kurt mumbles into Finn's shoulder. He's grown two inches in the past year.

That first night Finn's back, he inhales the food Kurt's made, makes appreciative noises, and then falls asleep on the couch watching the new season of The Simpsons. Kurt had hoped they'd be able to stay up talking, like they used to. But he understands Finn is tired and jet-lagged. He pulls the afghan off the back of the chair and drapes it over Finn's legs. Gets a fresh glass of water to set on the coffee table. Turns off the television and heads downstairs.

Finn sleeps until noon on Sunday. Kurt puts the waffles he made in the fridge with a post it note on top, telling Finn they're for him. There's some fresh cut fruit to go with in the blue glass bowl. Then Kurt goes back down to his room to change his sheets for the week and sort his laundry, chores he normally would have done on Saturday.

When he finally sees Finn that afternoon, still groggy but smiling, he comes down in his pajamas with a plate full of fruit and waffles to thank Kurt for breakfast. He sits on Kurt's freshly made bed, watches him iron his work shirts, and asks him how things have been going. "Burt said you were suspended? For beating up Karofsky so bad he ended up transferring?"

"Mmhm," Kurt replies, turning the shirt over the end of the ironing board as he presses the shoulder.

"You only told me in your letters that you were grounded for getting in a—" Finn makes air quotes with one hand. "—'minor scuffle'"

"I know," Kurt says. "It was minor for me."

Finn spears a chunk of peach and two layers of waffle with his fork. "Dude, that's not going to be looking good on your application," Finn says, and the sentiment is too much like his Dad's. Kurt doesn't need to be chastised again. Especially not this soon. "When's your interview? Have you had it already?"

He prickles with irritation, sends Finn a sharp glare. "Thanks for your concern about my well-being."

Finn blinks at him. "Sorry? I figured if you weren't okay, you'd have said something."

"And, for your information, I didn't submit another application."

"What? Why not?"

"The work at the Manufactorum is good," Kurt says, determined. "And they'll pay me to go to the community college and do a degree in Materials Technology and Engineering Science. I can transfer that into a four year degree program, or just take it back to the Foundry and get a promotion there." It's what he tells himself every time he's feeling stuck.

Finn's mouth flattens with disappointment. "So that's your new plan?"

"Yeah," Kurt says, turning his attention now to ironing the pleats around the shirt cuff without creasing the cotton. "I'm trying to accept that maybe I'm not Ranger material. Just because I work hard for the things I want, doesn't mean I get to have them, right? Isn't that what it means to be an adult? Understanding that?"

"You mean giving up?"

"No," Kurt says. "Accepting reality. The world is what it is." Which is not the way Kurt feels it's supposed to be. But that sense he has—of what should be, what's right or just—he's learning that it's not enough. "Some things I can't change."

"But even the people who don't qualify to be Rangers get good jobs with the PPDC. You could go into J-Tech, or train to work in LOCCENT. Or something like that? Kurt, you're way too good to stay here."

"The tank your Dad fought in was built here too, you know. They need good people in Lima," he says. "And do you know how often Romeo Blue needs new barrels for its Perses chest cannons? The metal suffers so much stress and heat, they have to be replaced after every battle, and we make those barrels here. I'm still contributing to the war effort."

"All right, Rosie Riveter," Finn says, kindly enough, but it sounds more like it's meant to end the argument than be actual agreement. Kurt doesn't want to argue, so he lets it go.

Kurt hangs up his shirt, and Finn eats his waffles, still taking too long looks at Kurt while he irons. Kurt does his best not to scowl at the sense of disapproval he's getting. Time to change the subject. "So, um, there's a free concert in the park this coming Friday. A Foreigner cover band," Kurt says as he takes the shirt he just finished to his wardrobe to hang. "Did you maybe want to pack a picnic and go?"

"Yeah," Finn says. "I heard about that from Brandy. I was already planning to go with her."

"Brandy? Oh." Kurt says. Freezes for an instant, staring at the wardrobe door. "Never mind then."

"No, hey, look, you could come with us? Bring someone. Mercedes maybe, or, uh, if you've got a guy you like—or a boyfriend? That would be cool too."

"Where would I find a boyfriend, Finn?"

"I heard there's a gay bar here, Scandals? Have you been?"

"A gay bar? Seriously. What do you think? I'm fifteen and I barely look fourteen." Kurt wonders where Finn even heard that.

"Good point," he says. "So bring Mercedes?"

Kurt doesn't want to go to the concert with Finn and Brandy on the world’s most awkward not-quite-a-double-date. "I'll think about it," he says.

*   *   *

The summer continues to be disappointing with regard to Finn. Kurt still feels the weight of his judgement every time he catches Finn looking at him. Kurt's working ten hour shifts, and it seems like the times he's actually home, Finn's out with Brandy. He wishes Finn could be proud of him.

Work goes well though, and it's good to have a constructive place to put his energy. Kurt starts sketching out designs to repair issues some of the older Jaegers are having. Like Romeo Blue's heat issues with his Perses cannons. Housed in the Jaeger's chest, they're too close to the nuclear reactor and can't shed heat. The rotary design ameliorates the issue somewhat—can keep the Jaeger firing at a good rate through a long battle—but Kurt's certain the design can be improved upon. After all, the Mark-1 Jaegers essentially were first drafts.

Sometimes at the plant they get damaged pieces back, so the engineers can evaluate them. They get a piece of damaged reactive armor from Mammoth Apostle's most recent sortie, embedded in it is a fragment of Kaiju tooth. Kurt gets to keep it as a memento. He talks with the engineers and asks questions. They're surprised at his interest and how quickly he understands things. Kurt asks about the memory alloys they used in some of the Mark-3's weapon systems. He knows they can't build them here, but he wonders if those alloys could be incorporated into the armor, could they make a kind of self-healing reactive armor?

Sheldon Beiste likes to drop in on Kurt from time to time, to check how he's doing. One day, he catches sight of Kurt's drawings and asks if he can have a closer look. Kurt reluctantly agrees. Beiste's impressed with what Kurt's done: better insulation around the reactor chamber, reinforcements to the Conn-Pod, and improved airflow and heat exchange via opening up the chest using an interlaced network of nickel-chromium superalloy beams rather than heavy steel struts, and using nitrogen cooled fins to bleed away excess heat as it mounts in the barrel chambers. The interlaced beams have the added benefit of making Romeo slightly less top heavy. The Australian engineers had used similar methods with Striker Eureka's design.

"Too bad there's not a lot of dough for refitting the old Jaegers," Beiste muses. "But you mind if I show these to some of our engineering team?"

"Really?" Kurt asks.

"Really."

*   *   *

It's a Saturday morning, and Carole's put him and Finn to work weeding along the back fence. It's only the second time Kurt's had a decent block of one-on-one time with Finn in the weeks since Finn's been back, and that lack has increasingly been creeping under Kurt's skin with irritation, and the frustration of not having been able to spend much quality time with Finn is swelling in Kurt's throat, harder and harder to swallow. Finn's always got plans with Brandy, and keeps blowing off Kurt's offers and requests. They haven't even played on the X-box together. So Kurt just flat out asks Finn: "Why are you with Brandy?"

"Huh?" Finn says, startled. He drops a clump of dock.

"You guys don't have much in common. Isn't that why you broke up with her last summer?"

"Yeah, but, she's nice," Finn says, "and hot."

"That's all?" Kurt asks. "She's not that nice."

Finn flushes and shrugs as he yanks up a large dandelion. "She started emailing me in May, asking if I was coming home and if I wanted to hook up, and I kind of... wanted to punch my v-card this summer."

"Punch your... Okay, that's—" Kurt's brain cramps on the image as much as the crass phrasing. "Finn, that's kind of gross."

"Why? Just because you don't want to have sex with girls—"

"No, I mean—you make it sound like you're using her just for the purpose of... _that_."

"Come on, that's not fair," Finn says.

"I just think..." Kurt swallows hard, keeps his tone even as he grubs around to dislodge a tap root. "Shouldn't your first time be with someone you care about and who cares about you?"

"I care about her," Finn says.

"Yeah, but... you're not in love with her," Kurt says. When Finn doesn't answer immediately, Kurt looks at him. "Are you?"

Finn's mouth twists. He actually looks kind of pissed. "No, not that it's any of your business, but I don't really see how or when I'd have the chance for that, Kurt," he says sharply. "I'm busting my ass at the Academy, and if I get accepted into Ranger training, that's going to be even tougher, and then—if I don't wash out—I'll be out there, fighting. Trying to, you know, _save the world_. Which is something I thought you, of all people, would understand. So tell me, when exactly am I supposed to have the opportunity to cultivate this grand romance? Brandy's a sweet girl, I like her a lot. Maybe she's not the love of my life, but I don't think that's something I get to have, and I would like to not die a virgin." Finn snaps his mouth shut and looks mildly shocked at himself for the outburst.

It's maybe the most honest Finn's been with Kurt. The first time Finn's ever raised his voice with him, too. Finn's face is unhappy, his eyes bright. Kurt realizes, he and Finn have something else in common. A lack of faith in their own futures.

"I'm sorry," Kurt says. He means it.

"Yeah," Finn says. Still a little hard. "You're different now, you know that?"

"I know I am," Kurt says.

"You're a lot angrier," Finn says.

That makes Kurt laugh. But the aftertaste is like tears. "Well, you weren't supposed to leave me behind."

*   *   *

"I've been thinking about something that I need to talk to you all about," his Dad says one Friday night in July. It's after dinner, and he's asked everyone to stay at the table for a family meeting before they go pick a movie or a boardgame. Carole gives him an encouraging smile. Whatever it is, she knows.

"What is it?" Kurt prompts.

"Well, you know, life is short," his Dad says. "And some days the future looks a little uncertain."

It sounds like his Dad's been practicing. Kurt sits quietly. Finn nods soberly.

"And watching the two of you boys doing what you can to reduce that uncertainty," he says, and Carole's looking at him intently, like she knows every word that's coming next. His Dad takes a deep breath. "I've decided, I want to fight for our future too."

"Fight, like...? What do you mean, Burt?" Finn asks.

"Fight as in run for congress. It's not too late for me to file as a write in candidate. God knows that twit Miller isn't doing anyone in this district any favors."

"Dad," Kurt says, "That's amazing."

*   *   *

**AUGUST 2020**

One hot August night, Finn comes down to Kurt's room. His return to Alaska is just weeks away. "Hey," Finn says from the top of the stairs. Kurt looks up from the piece he's gluing: Echo Saber's Conn-Pod. His window is open to let the acrid smells of plastic glue and turpentine out. The crickets sing outside. A moth has come in and is circling his desk lamp.

"Yes?"

Finn holds up his truck keys. "The Perseid meteor shower is on and we have optimal viewing conditions tonight. You want to come?"

"With you and Brandy?" Kurt asks sourly.

"No. Just you and me," Finn says.

"Oh," Kurt says. He sets down the tiny plastic Conn-Pod, hoping it's set well enough, and he caps the glue. "Then yes," Kurt says. "I'd love to."

They drive out of the suburbs into farmland, take a rutted path between tall rows of ripening corn. It's eerie in the dark, with just the bounce of the truck's headlights on the endless rows of corn.

Once they're far from the light of the road, Finn stops and they get out, clamber into the bed of the truck with an old sleeping bag to cushion them as they sit, leaning against the back of the cab. The humidity makes the stars shimmer, and the Milky Way arches overhead. In silence they watch for the meteors.

Finn's the one to speak first: "So are you ever going to tell me what really went down with Karofsky?" Finn asks mildly. "What he did that made you snap like that?" Apparently Finn can still surprise him.

"I didn't snap," Kurt says, sighs. "I'd been wanting to teach him a lesson since that first day in the parking lot. I was just waiting for the right opportunity."

"Okay," Finn says, sounding satisfied enough if not completely. They fall into silence again.

"After you left," Kurt says eventually. "The school changed. At first, I thought maybe it was just me missing you and worrying when we started losing Jaegers. I don't know. But it wasn't just me. I mean, they elected Stoner Brett as class president. And those guys—they stepped up the harassment. Going after me in the parking lot in the mornings. Karofsky was stalking me between classes every day, shoving me around, and no one was willing to do anything about it.

"So I did. He followed me into the bathroom one afternoon, and I decided to put an end to it, because that was something I could do."

Kurt turns to look at Finn, sees his concern, his care, and maybe even a little bit of something like pride. "And you did, huh?" Finn says.

"Yeah, I did." Kurt smiles, and Finn smiles back, and Kurt wants to reach out to him so badly. Wants to be able to move into the warmth of his body to be held. Or even kissed, because... Because Finn's still the boy who takes up space in Kurt's heart. He's still, disappointing summer aside, Finn. But Kurt won't reach for Finn's hand or keep gazing at his face in vain hope. He glances down at his own hands, worrying a loose thread on the bottom hem of his shirt. He should mend it. He can confess one thing to Finn though, "I kind of wish I had put in another application. Kind of wish I hadn't got myself suspended. I don't think, in the end, he was worth it."

"Hey," Finn says. "Who says this is the end?"

"The monsters are at the door, Finn. It's the end of the world and we're trying to save it. The fight's not getting easier. You know that. You said it yourself, you didn't want to die a virgin."

Finn's quiet for a while, nodding up at the stars. "What about you?"

It's a weird question, and Kurt's not entirely sure what Finn's asking him. "I'd settle for a kiss from a boy who cared about me," Kurt says and he feels strange saying it aloud to Finn. He dares to peek at Finn and sees how he's looking back. Quiet and thoughtful, steady, like he knows. Or like he might actually offer to kiss Kurt out of some kind of pity. So Kurt hugs his knees to his chest and adds, "Which is not happening any time soon. I just don't want to waste my energy fighting bullies when the real fight is out there." He waves his hand toward the west.

"But you're the one who told me, what you do here makes a difference."

"It does," Kurt says. "But," he says. "It's not like other people can't do what I do."

"Are you sure?"

And the words, the gentleness with which Finn asks—it sends a shock of foolish yearning through Kurt's heart. Kurt knows Finn doesn't mean the question the way Kurt wants to hear it, but in some other, better reality, it could have been a moment. The moment. Their moment. Kurt just shrugs and tips his head back, scanning for the next bright streak of a meteor. Thinks about making a wish.

"Can I ask you something?" Finn says. "It's kind of personal."

"Go ahead," Kurt says.

"How did you know you were gay? You told me once you'd known since you were five."

It's not a question Kurt was expecting. He looks at Finn, tries to read the cause for the question. Simple curiosity most likely. Maybe it's more surprising Finn's never asked him before. "I think..." Kurt starts. "It wasn't just one thing, but I distinctly remember watching _Sleeping Beauty_ and _The Little Mermaid_ and wanting to be like Aurora or Ariel." He hurries to explain. "Not because I wanted to be a princess—I still wanted to be myself. But I wanted to be in their place, in their story. I wanted to be the one Prince Philip or Prince Eric wanted to kiss."

"Aww. That's kind of sweet," Finn says.

"Sweet?" Kurt raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah," Finn says, and he's smiling at Kurt, wide-eyed and sincere.

"Why?" Kurt asks. "I mean, why did you want to know?"

The smile fades. "I don't know. Sometimes I look at guys and I think they're good looking?"

"Are you worried about that?" Kurt asks.

Finn grimaces and shrugs. That looks enough like worry to Kurt.

"Didn't you just spend the summer with your tongue down Brandy Lewis' throat?"

"Hey," Finn says, but he laughs.

"What I mean is, I can appreciate a pretty girl. It's not like I think girls are gross. I think they're amazing. But that kind of closeness, falling in love—that's something I want to do with a boy. One day."


	7. Chapter 7

**JUNE 2021**

Kurt's senior year ends. He skips graduation—just picks up his diploma from the school office one day after work, and that is, he hopes, the last time he will ever set foot on the campus of William H McKinley High School.

It doesn't feel like an accomplishment for him in the way it seems to for many others. It's not a culmination of anything, but a box ticked, a rung stepped upon, the truthful proposition between an 'if' and a 'then'. If he graduates high school, then he can enroll at the Lima City Junior College, where the majority of his AP credits will transfer. Which means he can complete his Associate's degree in a year plus change if he gets started over the summer. It means returning to part time work—two full days Tuesdays and Thursdays, and then a half day on Saturday—but with the Manufactorum footing the bill, there're no issues there. They want him educated.

On his lunch break at the Manufactorum, he sits outside with his laptop, at an aluminum tube picnic table on the tarmac outside the portable. Ostensibly it's there to accommodate employee cigarette breaks, but no one in the portable smokes. He's on the Junior College's website, checking the summer semester offerings. Because of the Tank Plant's influence on the local economy, he has a good selection of classes available. He eats his egg salad sandwich and taps through to the online enrollment form to take classes in Technical Writing, Engineering Graphics, Introduction to Composites, and Differential Equations.

Brenda comes out and joins him shortly, bringing her usual big tupperware bowl of salad and an extra cupcake to share with him. It's red velvet today.

"Thank you," he says.

"So when's that handsome brother of yours due home?" she asks, giving Kurt a wink.

Ignoring her inappropriateness is the price for the cupcakes, but he's ninety-percent sure Brenda Castle is ninety-percent harmless. He worries more about the hip flask she keeps in her stationary drawer.

"He's not," Kurt says, shaking his head. "Not this year. He's going straight from graduating the Junior Academy into the 24-week Ranger training course at Kodiak Island."

"Wow," Brenda says. "Tell me." She leans forward like she's got an appetite for potential gossip fodder. "Are you more proud or jealous?"

"I don't think I can give you an honest answer," he says, and she cackles with laughter.

The truth is, it's worse than jealousy. He's proud of Finn. But the photos Finn uploads to his Facebook, Kurt looks at with such visceral and pointless longing, he has to stop going on Facebook altogether. The gnawing sense of his own failure, that he thought he'd remedied by finding a purpose here, in Lima, returns as he faces all the days ahead without a clear way of getting out and getting to the front line. He looks at Brenda and sees an intimation of his own future. If the world endures long enough that he makes it to forty.

And when Carole and his Dad plan a family trip to attend Finn's graduation, it's kind of a production. Local Ohio press is going too, as are some of his father's D.C. staff. Now that his father is in the House of Representatives—and an outspoken member of the Joint American Pacific Defense Committee, which his predecessor had chaired—that he has a stepson heading into Ranger training is getting play at the national level.

Kurt concocts a story about not being able to afford the time off. He doesn't want to stand beside Finn while he himself is falling further behind. Doesn't want to be anywhere near the cameras and the press.

Turns out he's still kind of bitter, and this weekend, his parents will be getting on a plane without him.

"Hey," Brenda says. "Don't feel bad."

She's truly a font of wisdom. "You got any more of those cupcakes?" he asks.

*   *   *

The Summer passes. Kurt studies hard, works hard, and stays up late at his desk, until his eyes are gritty and dry and his back and shoulders ache. Slowly his morale recovers. If this is where he's destined to be, he'll still try to be the best version of himself. Keeping busy keeps him sane; it's always been that way. And when he discovers a significant perk of his enrollment in the Engineering Graphics course is access to advanced CAD software with his student discount? Keeping busy gets a lot easier.

He swaps plastic models for putting his pencil drawings and daydreams into three-dimensional bits and bytes, imagines upgrades to current machines, different ideas for newer more advanced Jaegers that can make the most of bleeding edge technology, and new ways to deploy the current state of the art.

The most practical and affordable designs he passes along to the engineering department with Beiste's help. Their praise sustains him. His proudest day is when a suggestion he makes for a new composite armor for Romeo Blue goes into production.

*   *   *

It's a late August afternoon, and he's sitting across from Mercedes at the Lima Bean. She's leaving tomorrow for Temple University in Philadelphia.

"So..." Mercedes says from over the top of her vanilla chai frappuccino. "You're spacing out on me, Kurt."

"Sorry," he says, and drops the sugar packet he's been turning over between his fingers.

"You know you can still come with me if you want to. You don't need a plan. It can just be you and me and my little Toyota taking on a new city. It could be a fresh start for us both."

He shakes his head. This isn't a new conversation between them. "I'm finally doing some real good here," he says firmly. Now that he's making measurable progress in his education and with the new armor being shipped west to the LA Shatterdome, he's expecting to receive a promotion to junior engineer by the end of the year. He may technically still be replaceable, but his contributions feel more substantial. And with fewer Jaegers and bigger Kaiju, the Jaegers are sustaining more damage in each fight. There've been fewer months between Breach events, and the Foundry's running hotter than ever trying to keep up.

"But you're not happy," she says.

Kurt shakes his head with a huff of denial. Happiness isn't a priority variable. "I'm fine, I promise. And if I'm not a paragon of joy here? I won't be any happier out east with you. You know I can't run off and pretend like this isn't the end of the world."

She rolls her eyes. "So dramatic," she says.

He swallows down the words he wants to say in protest, that he's not being dramatic, he's being realistic. Instead shrugs and smiles and changes the subject to how much he's going to miss her and wondering when he might be able to visit her in the Fall.

*   *   *

It's a live television event when the PPDC establishes Oblivion Bay: A Jaeger graveyard at the site of Trespasser's demise in Oakland. Kurt watches on the TV in the office at the Manufactorum.

It's a bleak procession, watching the Jumphawk teams ferry in the crumpled torso of Horizon Brave, the first to fall and the first to be laid to rest. Next it's Gipsy Danger's dismembered wreck. The machines are coming in in the order lost. Tacit Ronin, another of the Mark-1's, Lucky Seven. Even the first Jaeger prototype, Brawler Yukon, who was taken off the Proving Grounds to defend Vancouver after Gipsy Danger's fall. Each machine is accompanied by a narrated series of clips of its career fighting Kaiju. There's a memorial for the pilots, too. People cheer as if these heroes laid to rest have won the war, that this marks the natural end of their watches. No one here at the Foundry cheers, and few eyes are dry.

"Why won't they let us rebuild them?" Brenda asks. She stands with her headphones looped around her neck, and from them, in the quiet moments of the news broadcast, Brad Paisley sings "Welcome to the Future".

*   *   *

_"Thank you, Andrea._

_"All right, Ohio, here's how it is. Our new congressman Burt Hummel has been out there in Washington D.C. doing his best to funnel your hard earned tax dollars to the liberal elites on the west coast._

_"'But wait, Sue!' you say, 'those people on the West Coast aren't elites, they're people under siege by terrible monsters!' To which I say, if it's so awful out there, then why don't they move? But no, it's sunny and warm and beautiful out there on the west coast—who's going to want to leave if they can keep conning the rest of us into paying for the protection their luxurious lifestyles require?_

_"It's unconscionable that our politicians are bankrupting this nation to fight battles for a privileged few with Pacific ocean views and an oversized vermin problem. If they don't want Godzilla traipsing through their family picnic? They can pay for their own giant death robots, and the people of Lima can get back to building the tanks the military actually wants._

_"And that's How Sue C's It."_

*   *   *

Finn doesn't come home for Christmas either: he's got orders straight to the Los Angeles Shatterdome. He's among several new pilots sent there to provide backup for the current crews of the two LA Jaegers, the Mark-4 Mammoth Apostle and the venerable Mark-1, Romeo Blue. It marks a year since Kurt's seen Finn.

It's not long after the transfer to Los Angeles that that Finn's actually doing Drift compatibility tests with Quinn Fabray. She's been piloting Romeo Blue with Santana Lopez for the past two years, and now Lopez is being dismissed from the program after driving Romeo for over three years. They try not to keep the Mark-1 pilots longer than that, to minimize the health risks of radiation exposure.

*   *   *

**APRIL 2022**

Mercedes comes home for Spring Break. Which is amazing. Kurt's missed her more than he realized. They go to all their favorite old haunts, and Kurt goes to the Easter concert at Mercedes' church to hear her sing.

It's like old times, except he's living in the house by himself most days. With his Dad and Carole spending more and more time in D.C.—they've even bought a townhouse in Maryland—and Finn in Los Angeles, it's just Kurt. He's taken to sleeping on the sofa to ease the peculiar dread of lying in the basement with a vacant two story house atop him.

The last Saturday Mercedes will be in Lima, Kurt invites her for a sleepover like they used to have in High School. He queues up a Project Runway marathon, stocks up on Mercedes' favorite snacks, and orders pizza.

She turns up right on time—five minutes before the pizza. She's brought sparkling cider.

"To go with the pizza?" Kurt asks.

"Yes, because we are that classy," she says. "I also brought my sock monkey footie pajamas."

"You still have those?" Kurt asks, delighted.

They're half way through the pizza, and one episode into their marathon, when Kurt's phone goes off with an alert. Mercedes hits pause and Kurt digs under the couch cushions for his phone. He expects a text from his Dad, but it's not that.

"Breach Event," he says, and he scrolls through the details. "The PPDC Station at the Marianas reports... Category II Kaiju event... heading toward North America... Codename Wrecca. Predicted destination Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. ETA 1738 PDT. Jaegers launched to intercept. Puma Real from Panama City, Ro—" Kurt swallows and stares and starts again. "Romeo Blue from Los Angeles."

"Finn," Mercedes says, her eyes huge and stunned.

"Shit," Kurt says, and he fumbles to get the TV turned back over to a news station.

"Oh my god," Mercedes says. "That's only twenty minutes."

The footage from the chase 'copters shows the two Jaegers standing in the shallow coastal waters in the pristine horseshoe of Banderas Bay. Puma takes the forward position: she's built for close combat, and she moves in an arc, alert. Romeo hangs back, braced on his sturdy legs, scanning the horizon, ready to lay down some heavy firepower.

Finn's out there.

Kurt checks his phone for a text. Surely Finn would have—no. Nothing there. Probably there's been no time.

Finn is out there, and the armor protecting him, Kurt helped make. It should feel like a connection or a comfort maybe, but all it does is make him feel like he's not done nearly enough.

Kurt sends a text to Carole and to his Dad.

"Are you okay?" Mercedes asks gently.

"He's so far away," Kurt says.

"Do you want to sit down?" she asks, and Kurt realizes he's pacing.

"Thank you, no."

"Do you want to tell me about the purple one? Puma Royal?"

"Re-al," Kurt corrects, pronouncing the two syllables clearly. "It's Spanish for royal."

"Okay—do you want to tell me about it?"

Kurt does, reciting details of weaponry and armor, its pilots, their backgrounds, and the battles fought, the tactics used—it helps until Wrecca actually arrives.

Puma moves first, leaping out of the water to meet the breaching head and shoulders of the Kaiju as it rises, like a new island, out of the bay. Her claws dig deeply into the Kaiju's neck, holding it in place for an instant. Long enough for—

"Fire," Kurt whispers, just as Romeo opens up his chest and a rain of heavy shells pelts the Kaiju's body. It roars and tears away from Puma. She follows, using the advantage of its distraction to make a vicious swipe across the monster's face, succeeds in blinding it on one side.

"Flank it," Kurt mutters, and Romeo's on the move, circling around to the Kaiju's blind side, while Puma pulls its attention on the other.

The news anchor's voiceover, which Kurt has been ignoring, starts to sound too much like sports commentary. He mutes the TV, and then he tosses the remote across the room, to bleed off some of his agitation. Then he sits down on the floor.

Puma takes a hit to her left shoulder, but punches back fiercely with her right fist, this time with claws retracted. Some teeth go flying. Romeo fires another barrage, cutting up the Kaiju's back. "I think I'm going to throw up," Kurt says.

More of Wrecca is visible now. It's a squat beast with a flat, snakelike head. Almost like a vaguely reptilian badger. It turns abruptly and charges Romeo.

Mercedes squeaks and her hands fly to her face. She covers her eyes, and starts to pray under her breath.

"They'll be okay," Kurt says breathlessly. "They outweight that Kaiju, by—" He can't recall the exact tonnage in the alert, but Romeo's seven thousand tonnes. "A lot."

The impact is brutal, and Kurt's glad he muted the sound. But Romeo holds—as expected—gets a good grip on the Kaiju's head and twists it, uses his weight to slam it down to the seabed and keep it there. Follows with a punch and spinning up the rotary blade on its other hand. Puma rushes in from the side, claws bared. Gets a hook right under the Kaiju's belly, behind its ribs, where the body is usually softest.

"Are they okay?" Mercedes asks.

"Yeah, but it's about to get... really gross." Kurt says. Romeo brings down his whirling saw and Puma disembowels it neatly.

And that's the end of Wrecca.

Kurt tries to catch his breath, feels like he just ran a marathon. He just sits there, stunned and staring at the TV screen. The footage cuts back to the news studio, with the live footage tucked into a corner box. The two Jaegers high five each other and circle the Kaiju's corpse as it leaches its glowing blue poison into the water.

Finn's okay. "Finn's okay," he says out loud.

"Yeah," Mercedes says, peeking out from between her fingers. "Are you?"

Kurt abruptly starts crying.

"Oh, baby. I'm guessing that's a no."

"I'm so far away," Kurt says miserably.

"Then go," Mercedes says. "Finish your classes next month and go."

"I still have to take two more classes over the summer to get my degree."

"It's a piece of paper," she says. "You're the boy who didn't even go to his own high school graduation. Knowing you, you probably don't even need those two classes, you know what you're about, Kurt."

The thought of just _leaving_. Can he do that?

"You're alone here and you're going crazy. I'm telling you, you're ready. Go."

*   *   *

**May 2022**

Turns out, he can.

The May morning's humid and still, the air damply chilled. Winter hasn't fully retracted its teeth yet, though June's just around the corner. The eastern sky grows pale. The _cheeps_ and _chirrups_ of the neighborhood sparrows and finches are a loudening chorus up the street. Kurt scans the contents of his trunk, double checking he's got everything on his list, and then slams it closed and straightens. The car's a second-hand silver Audi hybrid his Dad and Carole bought him as a going away present. In theory he's meant to share it with Finn when he gets to LA. Mostly, they want him to be safe on the journey west. His Dad comes out of the open garage carrying a large gift bag; Carole follows with a square cookie tin.

"What's this?" Kurt asks.

"Your birthday presents," Carole says. "Wait and open them on the day, wherever you are." She hands him the tin. "And keep this right side up, okay, sweetie?"

It'll probably be Texas where Kurt wakes up on his birthday. "Okay," Kurt says. A tremor in his lips distorts his smile. He blinks. "Thank you."

"You got your phone fully charged?" his Dad asks gruffly.

"Yes," Kurt says, "and I've got the car charger and a solar charger and two spare batteries. I've printed the maps and set up my GPS. I'll call when I stop for lunch," Kurt says. "And when I get to Springfield tonight."

"Don't push yourself to make it that far today," Carole says.

Kurt doesn't want to take more than four days to get to Los Angeles, but taking extra time won't exactly be the end of the world. He nods as he leans into the open passenger side door, puts the gift bag and cookie tin on the floor next to his backpack full of snacks and water bottles. "If I'm tired, I'll stop earlier, I promise."

"You be safe, okay?" his Dad says, and he's blinking and working his jaw. Carole puts her arm around him. "It's a long drive."

"I know, and I will," Kurt says. Tearful hugs follow.

"Remember," his Dad says, holding him tight. "You can always come home."

*   *   *

Kurt's in Amarillo, Texas on his birthday. He sleeps until 8 AM to treat himself, takes his time at the motel's complimentary breakfast buffet, and goes back to his room to open the presents from his Dad and Carole. His father's given him a copy of his mother's family photo album: all the same photographs with her carefully written captions scanned and printed and made into a glossy little book with their last family photo on the cover. "Oh..." Kurt says to himself. He pages through the memories, and he smiles through the tears. Good to keep her spirit close with him as he travels west. There's also a three pack of his favourite boot socks—Kurt appreciates the practicality—and a Hummel Tires & Lube t-shirt. "Wonderful," Kurt says.

And then finally, Kurt pulls a small box up from the bottom of the gift bag. It has its own folded card. In his father's handwriting, it reads, "Your mother wanted you to have this when you turned eighteen. But you're already a man, so I'm giving it to you a year early. Love, Mom & Dad." Inside is a plain gold ring of well worn gold. Kurt recognizes it instantly: his grandfather's ring. His mother used to wear it around her neck sometimes. Kurt loved it when he was young, the satin patina of the gold, the silky smoothness of the metal. He had assumed it was with his mother when she died. Not so.

It fits Kurt right ring finger well, but it's too precious to wear casually, so he tucks it back in its box.

The tin Carole gave him contains his favorite lemon cookies. He's also got an e-card from Mercedes waiting in his email, and a text From Finn wishing him happy birthday and promising a proper celebration when Kurt arrives in a few days.

Before he gets on the road, he calls home. Carole and his Dad sing to him.

*   *   *

Kurt bypasses Los Angeles itself, approaching the old Naval Air Station at Point Mugu, where the Shatterdome is established, from the north, slipping along the highway between the Santa Ynez Mountains and the San Gabriel Mountains westward into Ventura. The sun is setting as he drives into it, and his first look at the Pacific Ocean is a vast glittering dazzle. The broad spill of sunlight threatens to white out his vision. The world never seemed so large in Lima. He never felt quite so small. But he's nearly there. Kurt ignores the excitement knotting his stomach, flips down his sun visor, and finds the turn south toward Oxnard.

He reaches the Shatterdome at dusk. The sun's light on the ocean is now a gentle cooling gray. At the gate to the base, he shows his photo ID and the visitor pass on his phone to the guard in the kiosk. He's waved through without trouble. Turning up on the doorstep is possible—so long as you're family of a PPDC Ranger.

The Shatterdome itself is an unmistakably brutal silhouette alongside the gentler humps of the more distant Santa Monica mountain. It dominates the marshland of the low lying base, rising up like a industrially produced butte.

Kurt follows the signage that leads him into underground parking beside the Shatterdome. He wends his way down until he sees spaces marked 'visitor'. He hopes to stay. He keys off the car and grabs his phone from the dash mount. His hands shake as he types a text to tell Finn he's here.

"Awesome. I'll meet you at the top of the elevator," Finn texts back.

Kurt closes his eyes and counts to ten, then he grabs his satchel and gets out of the car. Finds his way to the elevator without difficulty. His heart hammers in his chest and he can barely feel his feet on the ground. The rise of the elevator seems to push his heart further up his throat.

The doors _bing_ and slide open, and there stands Finn. He's the epitome of a young Ranger. A leather flight jacket has taken the place of the old letterman jacket, and bright on its breast is Romeo Blue's insignia, crossed swords behind a skull in profile. He's tanned, strong, confident, and devastatingly handsome. And his sweetly crooked smile still makes Kurt's insides feel like pudding.

Finn's smile broadens and his eyes widen. "Wow..." he says. "Kurt." Then he reaches out with both arms, "C'mere."

They hug, and Finn smells of leather and the ocean and (still) Aramis Classic. Kurt turns his face into Finn's neck, presses his fingers into the heavy leather across Finn's back, and feels the difference of the three inches he's grown since the last time he saw Finn. Finn's size isn't quite so encompassing.

"When did you get so tall?" Finn asks him. He pushes Kurt back and gives him an appraising look. "You look... uh." Finn's staring. "You look _good_." He gives one of Kurt's biceps a tentative squeeze. Kurt's finally caught up, he realizes. At last, he's no longer a kid next to Finn.

The heat of his flush creeps up Kurt's neck, and he doesn't entirely know what to say in reply. The praise is unexpected and though it warms and soothes his nerves, his tongue can't find any words to offer beyond a soft, heart-fluttery, "You do too." It sounds like a lame attempt at flirtation, but Finn just keeps smiling and looking at him, and all Kurt can do is smile and look right back.

"So, um—hey—let me take your bag," Finn says, and Kurt relinquishes his hold on his satchel. Then Finn turns, claps a hand to Kurt's back, and guides him down the gray concrete and metal corridor with his palm lingering warm and wide between Kurt's shoulder blades. "Let's get you settled and then, uh, I'll show you around?" Finn says.

Too many things to say and too many things to feel are bubbling up. Kurt's anxious and tentatively happy and overwhelmed. In the elevator up to the dormitory level, he lets himself sway into Finn's space, against the press of his hand, just a little. "It's so good to see you," he says, and the words feel clumsy with his enthusiasm. "I can't wait to see the Jaegers," he continues, to verbalize the rest of his present situation, the reality of which is a sensation fraying with incredulity. He's made it to the Shatterdome, to Finn. Whether there's a place for him here remains to be seen. Not everyone who works with the PPDC has come via their training programs, but Kurt's still very aware of how lucky he's been to get in the door with his incomplete degree. Thanks to Finn.

The quarters Finn leads him to are spartan: bare concrete walls, steel beams, and metal framed furniture. The bathroom fixtures in his small en suite are all stainless steel. "Cozy," Kurt says, turning back toward Finn with a smile.

"You want some privacy to freshen up?" Finn asks. He sets Kurt's bag in the room's solitary arm chair. It looks like something rescued from an office waiting room.

"Yeah, probably a good idea," Kurt says.

"I'm just across the hall." Finn gestures with his thumb back over his shoulder, but he makes no move to leave.

With a nod, Kurt says. "I should call home, too."

"I texted Mom already, to let them know you arrived safe."

"Thanks," Kurt says.

Then comes a moment where they just stand, facing each other, a little bit close, not speaking in the pause. Kurt's not sure if he's imagining the tension of the draw between them. His own attraction tends to muddle his perceptions around Finn. He can't stop his gaze from ticking to Finn's mouth, but he lets it keep moving, glances down, away, trying not to indulge too much whatever this is. Because although something about Finn's gaze feels different—new—in the excitement of his arrival, Kurt can't trust himself to interpret it. Surely it's not what it feels like. It's absurd how much Kurt still hangs on to this, a childhood crush he can't seem to shake.

"It's good to see you too," Finn says finally. "I'm so glad you came." Then Finn steps back and reaches for the door handle behind him. "Come knock on my door when you're ready."


	8. Chapter 8

Thirty minutes later, Kurt's showered and dressed in clean jeans, shirt, and waistcoat, and he's following Finn back to the elevator. Finn punches the Ground level button and grins at Kurt as the floor drops. "Excited?"

"I've moved past excited and into numbed disbelief," Kurt says. He smoothes his hands over his upper thighs, making sure his pockets are lying flat. He took so little time after his shower to get ready; the back of his hair is still damp.

Finn laughs. "Mammoth Apostle's out on the southern patrol overnight, so you'll only get to see Romeo."

"Only?" Kurt says softly, shaking his head. The elevator doors open, and it's a quick jaunt down a wide corridor to the broad doors that open into the hangar.

As they walk through, Kurt tips his head back. The metal ceiling vaults so far above—distant as the sky itself—it gives him a sense of falling as he moves forward. Anti-gravity vertigo. Disoriented, Kurt draws to a halt. Reflexively, he reaches for Finn's arm. "Holy..."

"Did you know we actually get weather in here?" Finn tells him. "Clouds and sometimes even rain. Especially in the morning."

"You could fit skyscrapers in here."

"And then some," Finn says.

It looked big from the outside, but this— "I feel extremely tiny."

"Look," Finn says, a hand on Kurt's shoulder suggesting the direction. He points. "Over there."

There, in one of the Jaeger bays—the only one of the (a glance about confirms) six bays that's occupied—stands Romeo Blue. The body of the Jaeger towers, more massive than even Kurt's most vivid imaginings. Romeo Blue's legs alone, each are as grand as a cathedral. Except cathedrals are made for people, and the scale of the Jaeger is inhuman, made to match a Kaiju. His size is literally monstrous. "So that's your ride?" Kurt manages.

"Yeah," Finn says with a chuckle. "Pretty weird, huh?"

Kurt shakes his head. "No, actually." Kurt peers up at the top of the Jaeger, sees its head—the Conn-Pod—is not currently mounted. Sees too, the tiny bodies of two engineers on a scaffold in front of Romeo supervising a trio of robotic cranes that're lifting an armor panel into place. He recognizes the piece. Watched it—or one just like it—get loaded onto a train. It's the new superalloy, strong but relatively flexible. Kurt's eyes prickle and his heart clenches hard. "This is..." He exhales a shuddering breath, but the stricture in his throat doesn't go with it.

"This is where we're both supposed to be," Finn says. "Right?"

The numb disbelief encroaches on his brain. He's dizzy and outside himself. Increasingly unsteady on his feet. It could be that he didn't stop for lunch today. Kurt nods. Behind Romeo, the hangar doors stand open, setting the machine against the deepening iron black sky. A cooling breeze from the ocean comes in, fresh over the smells of machine and metal.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Kurt says, blinks. "Everything is catching up with me."

"It's a lot," Finn agrees. "Do you want a closer look at him? We can go up to the Conn-Pod. Or I can take you through LOCCENT or down to the K-Science geeks or—tell me what you want to do?"

It's an effort to blink again. To look away from Romeo and back to Finn, to take in, as his eyes refocus, the other people around them. Moving unhurriedly but with clear purpose, in uniforms or jackets or overalls with the PPDC logo on the shoulder. A different scent, something savoury, wafts in behind them. Kurt's stomach expresses its interest. "Um," Kurt says. "All of it? But, is there food?"

"God, yes, of course, sorry. I should've figured you'd be hungry. They're serving dinner for another hour, I'll show you the mess."

*   *   *

It's the adult version of the school cafeteria. Up close, the food doesn't smell quite as appetizing. It's heavy with the bitter notes of overcooked brassicas, the rusty smell of beef and starchy things doused in greasy meat gravy. But Kurt's hungry, and he's not in a position to be fussy.

Kurt carries his tray—meatloaf with carrots and mashed potatoes (he skipped the grayish broccoli), a side of green salad, and a square of yellow sheet cake with chocolate frosting—to the table where Finn's seating himself across from two other guys in flight jackets: one blonde and broad-shouldered with hair falling into his eyes as he speaks, gesturing animatedly, while his companion—a more slender man, dark haired and dark eyed, regards him with a serious set of his brow and nods while chewing a mouthful of food. Kurt doesn't recognize either of them; they must be the newbies along with Finn, waiting their turn. They don't have Jaeger insignia on their jackets.

"Okay, so, how about Onibaba versus Knifehead," the blond guy says.

Dark-haired Ranger swallows and raises his eyebrows. "Oh, good one," he says. "Onibaba's armor versus—" he gestures with his own knife to illustrate a stabbing motion, and then cocks his head. "But Knifehead outweighs Onibaba by a factor of four, so that's a substantial disadvantage right there."

"No, no, 'cause Onibaba'll be faster, yeah? He could scuttle circles around Knifehead. Death by a thousand snips."

"I don't know. It'd be like a hermit crab taking on a shark." Dark-haired Ranger scrunches his nose.

"A really big hermit crab," Blond Ranger says. "But, okay, imagine, then, a cat three version of Onibaba, two or three times more massive."

"Huh, yeah, that's way harder to call."

Kurt sits down with a frown.

"Hey guys," says Finn, and they both look up at him, see Kurt, who makes himself smile as he sets down his tray. "This is my little brother, Kurt. Kurt this is Blaine Anderson and Sam Evans."

"Step-brother," Kurt corrects, and says, "Hi." The blond is Sam; the other, Blaine. Whose name sounds familiar, but Kurt can't place it exactly.

"Hey, dude," Sam says.

"Hello," Blaine says, offering his hand over the table to shake. Kurt does so, finds his palm warm and dry and his grip firm. He looks at Blaine's face and tries to place it. And fails. He sits, still looking at Blaine. Surely he'd remember him if he'd seen him in an article online, on the news or on a vlog. His Cary Grant hair and bright smile—Kurt would remember.

"What do you think?" Sam asks him.

"About...?"

"In a fight between two Kaiju, who would win, Onibaba or Knifehead?"

"Uh..." Kurt returns to frowning. "Is there any reason to think one Kaiju would fight another? They only come through the Breach one at a time."

"Maybe that's why," Sam says. "Maybe they can only come one at a time because they'd fight each other if more than one was here. Like roosters."

Blaine interjects, "Sam's been wondering what would happen if the Wall—hypothetically—is successful and the Jaegers are retired. If Kaiju keep coming through, but nothing else kills them, would they start fighting each other?"

Sam makes a clamping claw motion with one hand and puts on a voice like a 1950's sports commentator. "Fifty-thousand pounds per square inch, versus the knife. What do you think?"

It's an absurd thought experiment, and it strikes Kurt as rather disrespectful. "I think both of those Kaiju are dead, thankfully, and two of the pilots who fought those Kaiju died, and one of the Jaegers is now in Oblivion Bay."

"Yeah, but—" Sam says, leaning forward, and Blaine rests a hand on his arm, they share a look that Kurt doesn't know how to read.

"Maybe later, Sam?" Blaine says, and he turns to Kurt, "So Finn says you're here to apply with J-Tech?"

"Yes," Kurt says. "Back home, I'd been—"

"Hello, boys," comes a woman's voice from behind him. It's familiar, and Kurt places it immediately. He's watched all the interviews Quinn Fabray has ever done. He looks over his shoulder and watches her round the end of the table to stop next to Blaine. In person she's even more regal than in photographs, even without the professional makeup and hair. Her platinum blond bob is pinned behind her ears, and her face is scrubbed clean but for a shimmer of rose pink on her lips. The insignia on her jacket is Romeo Blue's, like Finn's, though the colors of hers are dulled with time and wear. The patch looks softer at the edges and more flexible over her breast. Three years she's been a pilot.

She fixes Kurt with a direct look as she sets her tray down opposite Finn, next to Blaine, who scootches closer to Sam to make more room for her. Kurt's never before had an urge to stand in the presence of a lady, but his knees itch to stand up. Impossible though, with the attached cafeteria benches. Somehow she makes stepping over the bench and sitting an act of grace. She angles her body toward their little group and says to him with her beautifully modulated voice, "You must be Kurt."

"I—yes," Kurt replies, unblinking, and his face grows hot. "Miss Fabray, it's an honor to meet you."

"Ooh," she says with a raised eyebrow and a slow smile, "An honor?" It's not mocking though, but gentle and warm. Her eyes are very green and direct. Kurt glances down at his meatloaf to gather himself.

Sam stage whispers to him, "It's okay, dude, she has this effect on everyone. Even Blaine."

Quinn laughs—as do Blaine and Finn. Kurt feels he must correct himself, lest they assume incorrectly. "Growing up," he says to her. "You were an inspiration to me. You were so young when you started."

"You were his favourite pin up," Finn says.

"It wasn't like that," he says. "Just, seeing you made me believe I could—" And there he has to break off, because although he is here now, it's not the way he'd hoped to be for so long. He's not a Ranger. He's not even an engineer yet, not properly. Finn's expressed confidence that Commander Wright—the DARPA officer in charge of J-Tech in LA—will love him. Kurt's not permitting himself either optimism or doubt before he actually meets with her tomorrow.

"I'm glad, Kurt," she says. "We all benefit from seeing people walking ahead of us. It lets us know a path can be found."

Kurt smiles at her and finally takes a bite of his cooling dinner, hoping if his mouth is full, he won't have to speak again. The meatloaf isn't remotely as good as Carole's, so he swipes his next forkful of it through his potatoes and gravy.

It's a relief when the conversation turns away from him. Blaine says something about an editorial he read online this morning in The Los Angeles Times, critical of the failures back east to fully assess or appreciate the environmental impact of The Wall of Life. Kurt listens and eats and declines Finn's offer of a soda or beer, sticks with the carton of chocolate soymilk on his tray.

After dinner, Quinn excuses herself for a Skype date with her sister, and Finn asks who wants to come to the game tonight? Apparently there's a nightly card game hosted by the K-Science geeks: the first ten people at the table play.

"Sure," Kurt says. A card game sounds like less pressured interaction. He looks at Blaine and Sam to see if they're coming too. Kind of hopes not. Sam's too much energy and he and Blaine seem to be a set. Which he supposes can happen to people if they've spent time in the Drift together, which seems to be the case with them. When Kurt looks, he finds Blaine already looking back at him. Strange.

"You were going to drive me into town tonight, right?" Sam says to Blaine.

Blaine smiles and nods, "Yes, of course." And to Finn and Kurt he says, "Another time."

*   *   *

K-Science is located in the next to lowest basement level—for security reasons, Finn explains. They walk in through aquarium sized jars and tanks holding samples recovered from Kaiju. Kurt pauses to get a closer look at a cylindrical tank holding a spherical mass covered in fine tendrils. He looks for a plaque on the container to explain what he's looking at, but finds none. It floats, a grayish green in the yellow-lit preserving liquid.

"Cool, huh?" Finn says.

"Everything is," Kurt replies. "Do you know what it is?" Kurt asks.

"Nope."

Then a girl's voice behind them. "It's a Kaiju ovum."

A young woman approaches them. She's in civilian clothes under her lab coat and her dark hair is twisted up into a knot held together by two pencils. With her round face and eye-crinkling smile, she looks to Kurt like a live action Mulan.

"An egg?"

"Yeah," she says. "It's from Yamarashi."

"The Kaiju that trashed Long Beach?"

"That's the one," she says, and grins. "Hi, I'm Tina."

"Kurt," Kurt answers and extends his hand, which she takes. "So the Kaiju was female?"

"Maybe? We think it's possible the Kaiju are hermaphroditic, with both male and female gonads and are capable of, basically, impregnating themselves with clones, of a sort. There'd be some genetic variation, but not much."

"Oh my god," Kurt says, and he thinks about Sam's hypothetical situation: Kaiju running amok in the Pacific Ocean on the other side of a wall, breeding on their own, like Godzilla from the1998 movie.

"I know, right? A litter of baby Kaiju is not going to make Cute Overload."

"Not really, no," Kurt says. The thought of it horrifies. How would the Earth support such a population? Maybe the Kaiju would fight. They wouldn't have anything to eat but each other.

Beside him, Finn is peering at the ovum more intently, his nose wrinkled up. "That would be a very bad thing."

Tina says, "There's a guy in Hong Kong trying to sequence DNA from as many different Kaiju as possible. We're air freighting him some of Yamarashi—most of our samples are from her—to sequence, and then we'll learn a little more."

Kurt nods dumbly, wondering about the kind of ecosystem that could support such creatures.

"Is the table full tonight?" Finn asks.

"Not yet," Tina replies.

"Awesome."

The table is in a different room, one full of server racks and air conditioned to a chilly degree. Four people are seated at the table. Tina introduces them all to Kurt. Daphne is the one in engineering coveralls with the red lipstick and serious face. She's shuffling the cards. Mike, long-legged and relaxed in his chair, also works in K-Science. He looks like he should be a Ranger though, with a gymnast's physique revealed by his tight white t-shirt. Brittany, seated next to Mike and sucking on a lollipop, is a combat instructor. Artie, another K-Science geek who liases with the J-Tech crew, works with the computers, modeling various simulations, he says. Which sounds very nonspecific to Kurt.

Kurt sits between Finn and Tina.

"What's the game tonight?" Mike asks.

"Go Fish," Daphne answers. Kurt starts to laugh, and then realizes she's serious when no one else laughs, they just ante up—with a quarter each. Kurt digs for his wallet, puts in a dollar and takes three quarters in change. Daphne deals, inscrutably, with an e-cigarette trailing white curls of vapor from between the fingers of her left hand as she passes out the cards. Meanwhile Artie passes around a mismatched collection of shot glasses and produces a bottle of silver tequila. Finn declines a drink, but the others partake. Kurt hesitates for a moment, but Finn encourages him. After the all the driving, it'll help take the edge off.

They play Go Fish with all the seriousness of poker. House rules. Kurt sips his tequila while the others knock back their shots and Artie pours another round when they get to the next hand (Mike wins the pot, all dollar seventy-five of it).

The tequila has him feeling easy and kind of glowy. He warms, even in the air conditioned cool of the server room. The conversation is light banter—none of it work related, which seems to be a tacit rule—laughter, and affectionate teasing. He's included in the conversation and jokes, treated like he's always been welcome. Maybe, being Finn's stepbrother, he has been. On his second shot of tequila, Kurt spends more time looking at the people than at his cards. Sees an intimate kind of camaraderie among Mike, Tina, Artie, and Brittany.

By the third hand, it's a vaguely confusing camaraderie. Tina kisses Mike, Brittany sits in Mike's lap for a round, and then in Artie's. Artie and Tina flirt, Tina and Brittany flirt, and Mike seems to enjoy both. Kurt can't be sure, but there seems to be some groping going on under the table. Daphne rolls her eyes at their antics. Finn has a surprisingly strong poker face, or, in this instance, a good Fish Face, which Kurt observes out loud. Finn laughs and punches him in the shoulder, and then asks him if he has any eights.

It's strange. They're all new people, everything here is new (except Finn), and Kurt feels more comfortable in this room with these people than he did his whole life growing up in Lima.

On their way back up after the game concludes, Kurt says as much to Finn, "Maybe it's silly, but..." Kurt chews his lip and slumps against the elevator wall. "I think I could be happy here."

"That's not silly," Finn says, and he's serious. But he smiles and adds, "I just hope you won't be hungover for the interview tomorrow. Make sure you drink some water before you go to sleep, okay?"

Kurt nods sagely. "That is excellent advice," he says.

"You're kinda cute when you're tipsy," Finn says. His gaze lingers on Kurt's face, and makes Kurt feel warm.

"So're you." Kurt smiles up at Finn.

"I'm cute when you're tipsy?"

Kurt giggles. And then winces at himself because it makes him sound drunk. But he doesn't think he's drunk, just floaty and happy.

"Come on, let's get you to bed," Finn says, and he takes Kurt's arm to lead him down the hall, which is good, because all the doors look the same.

In Kurt's room, Finn gets him a glass of water from the bathroom sink while Kurt painstakingly unlaces his boots. Makes a mental note not to wear his Docs if he's going to be having tequila. "One thing I couldn't figure out though," Kurt says.

"What's that?" Finn asks.

"Are they, Tina and Artie and Mike and Brittany? Are they dating each other? I mean, who's dating whom. Or what?"

"Oh, yeah," Finn says. "It's kind of a group thing for them? I'm not sure of the finer points."

"Like an orgy?" Kurt asks.

"I don't know if it's quite like that, maybe more of a mutual love triangle, but they're all close in that way."

"Quadrilateral," Kurt corrects, because there's four people, and then he frowns to himself as he considers the permutations; a square doesn't work, but his brain is floopy. It needs an extra dimension. A three-sided pyramid, maybe. "Huh."

"I think it's kind of cool," Finn says.

"Do you?"

"At first, I thought it was kind of out there, but, you know, life is short, and they're happy. More love can only be a good thing, right?"

"I guess so," Kurt says and yawns. He falls back to his bed, one de-booted foot on the bunk with him, the other, still em-booted, dangling over the edge.

Finn sets the glass of water down on the metal shelf beside Kurt's bunk and looks down at Kurt with a softness in both his gaze and smile. "You'll be okay tonight?"

"Yep," Kurt says.

"Okay, good night then," Finn says.

"Good night."


	9. Chapter 9

Kurt wears a suit to his ten-thirty AM interview with Commander Wright. It's his favorite. The color is conservative enough: navy blue. But the cut is slim and European. The suit's excellence is in its details. Kurt pairs it with a light pistachio green shirt and a cream pin dot tie. He makes sure his shoes are free of scuffs and evaluates himself one more time in the three-quarter length mirror behind his door. Hopes he doesn't look too much like he's trying to sell something—or too much like a politician.

It's possibly too formal and violates, in some sense, the dress-for-the-job-you-want rule, but he doesn't think midwestern engineering drone casual will make much of an impact. He aims to be striking. Memorable.

He passes Quinn in the corridor. "Looking good, Kurt," she calls over her shoulder to him. That helps. Finn meets him at the elevator.

They get in and the elevator rises. "Remember to blink. Oh, and also to breathe," Finn tells Kurt.

"Preferably at the same time, but not synchronously?" Kurt adds, wryly. They step out into the hall behind the LOCCENT control room. Kurt gets a look through the open door to the wide window overlooking the hangar bay. Catches a glimpse of Romeo's profile, still headless, but with the broad length of his chest guard rearing up like an enormous horn.

"Down the end of the hall," Finn says, "Last door on the left."

"Thanks."

"Break a leg," Finn says, and pats him on the back once to lend him extra momentum as he steps forward. "But not, like, literally," Finn adds.

Laughter helps the nerves, always.

"I'll be here, waiting," Finn calls out, and Kurt glances back to see him sitting down on a low bench running along the side of the corridor.

The floor is carpeted up here, tight industrial pile in a rust flecked green. It's a nice relief from the relentless concrete and metal of the hangar and crew quarters.

He gets to the door. It's got some faux wood finish and a black formica rectangle with white letters inscribed: Cmdr. Isabelle Wright, PhD. DARPA.

Kurt takes a deep breath and knocks.

"Come in," she calls.

He lets himself in, finds the Commander in navy whites, standing behind a wide, computer strewn desk. Her honey blond hair is pulled up off her collar in a tidy french knot. "Kurt Hummel," she says, leaning forward and extending her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Your resume is very interesting."

Kurt reminds himself to blink as he shakes her hand. "Thank you," he says. _Interesting_ is a neutral enough word, but her smile indicates this is a compliment. "I'm so grateful to have this opportunity," he adds. He rehearsed this last night.

"Please, take a seat," she says, and he does. Cmdr. Wright pulls a large tablet toward her as she sits. Taps across the screen. "You've got good references here, from instructors at your school as well as your supervisors at the Manufactorum, and you applied to the Junior Academy a few years ago, but had some trouble at your interview?"

"Yes, ma'am," Kurt says. This seems less auspicious.

"Could you tell me a little bit about that?"

"Oh." Kurt sits up straighter. "I was less than enthusiastic about the methodology of the psychological evaluation. Some of the questions were not amenable to a five point scale and required more nuance for me to give an accurate response. I wasn't shy about saying so."

Cmdr. Wright smiles. "All right," she says. "I can certainly respect that."

Kurt raises his eyebrows.

"By which I mean, it sounds like you're detail oriented, and you appreciate both clarity and complexity?"

"That is an overly kind way of putting it," Kurt says, but he's pleased to hear it.

She grins at him. "I see too that you're creative. You included..." She taps away again. "Some designs of your own? Upgrades for existing Jaegers and new ideas. Including the new armor plates we've got from Ohio recently. These are highly detailed designs. You're very knowledgeable."

"Yes, ma'am. I've been passionate about this work for years. I started building the models and studying the spec sheets when I was young. I wanted to know everything I could about the Jaegers. They fascinated me, the machines and the Rangers. As I got older, and had the opportunity to learn more about the details of the Jaegers' manufacture, I began drafting my own ideas." Kurt gestures. "As you can see."

"What would your dream role be here at the Shatterdome?"

"Oh, goodness," Kurt says. He glances back in the direction of the hangar, even though several walls block the view. Romeo Blue's location feels like a compass point at his back. "My dream role would be, um, not just maintaining the Jaegers, but helping implement upgrades and refits. Repairs as well. I know there's not a lot of money—"

"Pretend there is."

"In that case, I'd want to see the hangar bay with six Jaegers standing in it, all at their best. Romeo Blue and Mammoth Apostle and four new Jaegers."

"I like this vision," Cmdr. Wright says. "And, with your valuable experience at the Manufactorum back in Lima—we shall definitely find a place for you here with us in J-Tech." She stands again, smoothing her skirt and jacket as she rises. "Thank you for coming all this way to meet with me," she says.

"Oh, no, thank you," Kurt says, standing quickly and bumping the chair behind him in his shocked enthusiasm. "Thank you so much. Oh my... I promise to do my best here."

*   *   *

Finn sits up as Kurt comes down the hall. "Judging by your face, it either went really well or really badly."

"The former," Kurt says.

"That's the first one, right?" Finn stands, and they make their way back to the elevator.

Kurt nods. "The commander offered me a position here with J-Tech."

"I knew she would," Finn says, and, to his credit, manages to sound confident, not smug. "Congrats!"

"I'll get more details tomorrow, but I think I'll be working with the Jaegers themselves, and—" They stop outside the elevator. "Oh my god, Finn!"

"You made it!" Finn says, and pulls Kurt into a tight hug. "I'm so proud of you."

Kurt grins against Finn's chest and digs his fingertips into the back of his jacket. "I did."

"Now, let's go tell Burt and Mom," Finn says. "And get some early lunch, since I know you'll have skipped breakfast."

*   *   *

Kurt changes back to more casual clothes, and then they grab sandwiches, bagged chips, and bottled juice before heading out through the wide open doors of Mammoth Apostle's empty bay. The sense of vertigo hasn't passed. Kurt gazes up at Romeo Blue as they pass him. It's not a bad feeling to be awestruck by his situation.

They sit side by side on the seawall—which is actually more of a defensive wall. Below their dangling legs are the long barrels of artillery cannons. Kurt counts ten in the line. with sixteen inch barrels, like old Battleship guns, except he knows these cannons fire a different kind of shell with more accuracy. To the south he can see where work crews are laying the foundations for the Wall of Life. The mess of bare earth, concrete, and steel scaffolding spoils the view of the ocean from the coastal road down to Los Angeles.

It's a grayish day of scintillating sunlight on the water and bright haze in the sky. But the sun's behind them, so Kurt pushes his sunglasses up into his hair to look at the ocean unimpeded. In his pocket his phone is quiet. It's nice to know there are no monsters out there today—at least not yet.

"Were you scared?" he asks Finn.

"Hmm?" Finn pushes a dangling piece of lettuce between his lips and swallows. "For you this morning? No."

"I mean, when you went out there the first time. In Romeo with Quinn."

"Well, yeah, of course I was, but... I was probably more excited than scared? And Quinn made it easier. She's, like, super calm. Icy. Some of the deck crew have nicknamed her Elsa, but I don't recommend calling her that."

"Noted," Kurt says, and he uncaps his water, takes a swig and squints at the horizon. "What's it like, Drifting with someone?"

Finn purses his lips. "Intense. It's like..." He pauses and frowns in thought. "... having no floor or walls or ceiling. You're just kind of dangling there, naked. But together."

"Scary?"

"Kind of? It depends who you're with, I guess. You have to trust them and they have to trust you. You can't keep secrets in the Drift, which doesn't mean that you see everything, just that everything is potentially seen, you know? But it goes both ways, which means any embarrassment is usually mutual."

"Okay."

"They taught us how to meditate in the Academy. It helps keep you in the moment, so those stray thoughts and memories don't overtake you. You need a lot of focus to keep the connection to the Jaeger with your partner, and that's probably the best part. When the Drift is really strong, you feel like your body just melts away, you're fused with your co-pilot and the Jaeger, and all you are is the machine made conscious in that moment."

It's almost poetic; Kurt likes that. "Why did Quinn pick you and not one of the other guys?"

"She likes a co-pilot who's more about instinct and intuition. Less cerebral. Some fire to her ice, you know?"

"Less cerebral. That sounds like you, yeah."

"Hey," Finn laughs and kicks Kurt in the ankle.

"Ow," Kurt says, bringing his leg up so he can rub his ankle. Finn sucks a mouthful of orange juice from his bottle and smiles at the horizon. Kurt lets himself look at Finn. Sometimes he feels like he knows him as well as anyone, and other times, he's a new person. "I was terrified," Kurt admits. "Watching you and Quinn fight Wrecca."

"Yeah?"

"I'm less scared now," Kurt says. "But, I hated being so far away from you, not being able to do anything to help in the moment of it all."

Finn cocks his head and his smile goes sweetly lopsided. He sets his water down and rubs Kurt's thigh, just above his knee. "You've done a lot though. To help. You know that, right?"

Kurt casts his gaze down. "I want to do more, but it's nice you feel that way."

"Nice?" Finn teases. "Thanks to your efforts, I managed to pull a B minus in my Vector Calculus class."

Kurt opens his mouth to reply, but just then, at the edge of his perception, like a jitter in his blood, Kurt hears something. "Do you hear that?" he asks Finn.

"Jumphawks," Finn says. "Bringing in Apostle. This'll be cool. You're going to love it."

They sit in silence then, and Kurt scans the horizon toward the south. The barely audible jitter becomes a thrum. It takes eight of the V-50 Jumphawk VTOL aircraft to transport a Jaeger, with a range of roughly two-thousand miles. Kurt still doesn't understand the physics of it, but he's keen to see it.

Gradually the thrum turns into a discernible beat of rotors, and Mammoth Apostle emerges from the bright sky, a pale giant hovering above the slow seething ocean, his details washed out by the distance.

Closer and closer, they come, faster than something this size should be able to move—or be moved. The bass beat of the Jumphawks' rotors pummels the air. Kurt feels it in his bones and in the foundations of the wall on which he sits.

Mammoth Apostle, a Mark-4, is bigger than Romeo—taller anyway. Romeo Blue is the heavier machine. The late morning light spangles Apostle's white, blue, and gold armor, and Kurt knows the shape of every piece. The barrel of his plasma lance, mounted on his back, is a slender taper rising behind his shoulder, and—as he gets closer—Kurt can see the retractable shotel-like blades mounted on his arms. In his chest is a trio of mortars, but they're not visible behind the closed armor casing.

Calm washes over Kurt as the Jaeger passes over them. He slips his sunglasses back down to his nose, tilts his head back, and watches as the Jumphawks bring Apostle over their heads, like some great metal eclipse. He loves the pounding of the rotors' vibrations, how it drowns out every other noise and sensation. A molecular level massage. He and Finn—and others, from the deck crew to the cafeteria staff—watch as the Jumphawks lower the Jaeger to his docking platform. The painstaking precision of the maneuver is impressive. Mammoth Apostle's enormous feet slip into the docking clamps like they're a favorite old pair of slippers.

The Jumphawks disengage and peel away with the transportation harnesses dangling below them. Apostle settles with a low-frequency grinding and shifting of gears and joints, like a rockslide coming to rest. The pneumatic systems hiss as they release excess pressure, and the docking platform grumbles forward on its broad tracks.

"Come on," Finn mouths, tugging Kurt's shoulder and jerking his thumb toward the hanger. He pivots and stands, stuffs his empty chip packet in one of his jacket's hand warmer pockets. The thump of the Jumphawks, even receding, makes conversation difficult. Kurt stands and follows. They go back in through a smaller, human scaled door between the launch bays.

Far above, the Conn-Pod is detaching, and rising up into its housing on the uppermost level. The Rangers: Elliott Gilbert and Dani Amato—who, with their rock star style, have also graced Kurt's pinboard—will be unplugging from the Jaeger and each other and heading to the Drivesuit room to be assisted from their gear. After that, Kurt imagines, they'll be debriefed and he's not sure what else. He wonders when he'll get to meet them.

The ambient sound levels dwindle enough Kurt speaks to Finn, "When will you and Quinn be on patrol next?"

"Panama City's got the next watch, then Anchorage, then we'll be up," he says. "So a few days."

Then Kurt hears his name—first and last. A guy in an engineering coverall approaches. "Chase Madison," he introduces himself. "Cmdr. Wright said you'd be joining our team, so—if you're up for it, I thought this—" He gestures at Apostle. "—might be a good opportunity to introduce you to one of our Jaegers."

"Oh," Kurt says, looking from Chase up to the Jaeger, where the scaffolding is swinging into place around the machine, allowing the engineering team to do whatever diagnostics and maintenance they do when the Jaegers return to base. This's why he's here. "I'd love to."

"I'll get you a suit," Chase says. "And a helmet."

Finn gives Kurt a grin and a thumbs up. "I'll see you later."

*   *   *

The work is far more physical than Kurt was expecting, and he was already expecting a lot. He finds himself geared up like a mountain climber, in a sit harness with ropes and pulleys, gingerly learning how to rappel down the back of Mammoth Apostle. Chase is beside him, talking him through anchoring his ropes. They're checking the integrity of the armor plates. Not expecting to find any damage, but it's part of the general maintenance. They do a visual inspection—and Kurt knows well how the pieces are meant to look—followed up by a deep radar scan using a handheld sensor gun to image the structure beneath the surface, to check for faults and irregularities. The work is both familiar and new. The rappelling is—once he gets the hang of it—pretty fun.

*   *   *

Hours later, Kurt strips off his clothes and stumbles into his shower with the water dialed as hot as he can bear. He stands under the spray, rubbing at the tender reddened impressions the harness has left on his thighs, waist and groin. He'll be sore tomorrow, but the thought makes him smile.

Nearly, he lets himself collapse on his bed, freshly washed and in an unbleached terry robe. But he knows if he doesn't eat, he'll regret it. So he drags himself up and pulls on a pair of dark wash 501's and a gray chambray shirt from his Manufactorum days. He dries his hair without much product and tucks it under a black canvas fisherman cap. Forgoes the challenge of lacing up his Docs for a pair of dark cherry red brogues.

He follows his nose to the cafeteria. It's chicken pot pie tonight. Neither Finn nor Quinn are there yet, and Kurt doesn't see Apostle's pilots either. He does spot Sam and Blaine, but takes himself over to a table where Daphne and Chase sit with Artie and Tina. He's got no sense of social cliques here, so trusts no one will feel snubbed. It's nice to have options, to be somewhere where there's enough of a focused and united purpose. The Manufactorum had a fair bit of that vibe, but it also had people who were there because it was a good day job. No one in the Shatterdome lacks passion or commitment.

"... so the implant design—it's still not quite able to stay in sync with the neural model, but I've solved the latency issue," Artie's saying. "Which is a big step."

Kurt sits down next to Tina without interrupting. Tina smiles at him. She's eating her chocolate pudding first and leans in toward him and gestures with her spoon as she speaks softly, "Artie's been developing a theoretical new interface between pilot and Jaeger, one that bypasses the whole physical body problem, and talks directly to the motor cortex."

"Oh," Kurt says. "Wow." It's long been an issue for Rangers, how physically grueling piloting the Jaegers is. "So the pilot would operate in a more virtual space?"

"Yeah, kind of," Tina says. "Pilots would still be in the machine—he says remote piloting isn't possible, but Rangers wouldn't be limited by physical ability or injury in the same way they are now."

"Tina's making it sound far easier than it is," Artie interjects. "I'm still working on how to compensate for—or fully include—procedural memory, reflexes, actually knowing how to fight—that kind of thing. Stuff that happens outside the motor cortex. Like, do we try to tap into more of the pilot's brain, or do we build a smarter Jaeger? This isn't even close to prototype stage."

Kurt nods and sips his water. It's not his area, but it's fascinating. So he listens.

As the meal and the conversation wrap up, Kurt's contemplating a second helping of the pot pie and Tina's asking him if he's coming to the card game tonight. Quinn sits down next to him with a fully laden tray, and says, "Actually, Finn told me you have reason to celebrate today. We were thinking about getting a group together and heading out to The Blue Rose. Any of you want to come?"

Finn comes around and sits down across from Kurt. "It's kind of our local dive," he says. "They have pool, karaoke, dancing, darts..."

"And a good bar menu," Quinn says. "When you need something more nourishing."

"I'm seventeen," Kurt says.

"Doesn't matter," Quinn says. "If you're with us, you can get a drink in any bar here." She indicates herself, Finn, the Romeo Blue insignia on their chests.

"Okay," Kurt says. "That sounds fun."

"I'll bring a deck of cards," Tina says

They end up needing three cars. Kurt drives his, Blaine another, and Mike a third.

The raw wood paneled door to The Blue Rose—with its namesake painted upon it—peeks out from behind a dingy stucco archway in downtown Oxnard. Even after hours, it's not hard to see the economic toll the Kaiju War has wrought on the city. Many businesses aren't simply closed, but shuttered. They easily find parking spaces across the street from the bar.

Inside, no one asks Kurt for ID. The ceiling is hung with blue, green, and white fairy lights that catch and sparkle on the bowls of the glasses hanging by their stems above the long distressed pine bar. The publican is an obese woman in a royal blue blouse, chatting amiably with a patron while she pours two shots of bourbon. Her name is Millie Rose, Finn informs him.

They pull two tables together near the karaoke stage, and Finn and Mike take drink & snack orders—and cash donations—to the bar. Kurt asks for the black bean taquitos, at Quinn's recommendation, and a Margarita, at Tina's.

After a few toasts in his honor and a fuller belly (Kurt follows up the taquitos with some barbecued mushroom sliders) the exertion of the day catches up with him, and he just sits and absorbs the ambiance of comfort and unexpected safety. After the first round of drinks, Tina grabs Blaine and they head to the stage to perform a duet of Boston's "More than a Feeling".

They're really, surprisingly good, and it makes Kurt miss Mercedes with a sudden sharp pang. He pulls out his phone and snaps a few shots of the table, their food and drinks. Blaine and Tina smiling on the stage. The others, sitting around looking relaxed in the soft cyan-hued light. He sends them to Mercedes with a message: "Missing you tonight. Wish you were here. <3"

Tina returns to her seat, and Sam joins Blaine on the low stage. They bend their heads near in discussion, and then Blaine selects the song. They do a duet on David Bowie's "Heroes", which is both appropriate and an odd choice. Kurt can't quite make sense of Sam's humorous affect on some lines, but they do a great job with the song. Once finished, they high-five each other and everyone applauds. Finn gets up and offers Quinn his hand. She declines with a shake of her head. So Finn turns to Kurt. "Up for singing 'Don't Get Me Wrong'?" It's an old favorite from their days of singing in the truck on the way to and from high school.

Kurt blanches. These people are all great, and he wouldn't expect to be mocked, but he's not up for embarrassing himself on a stage. And singing songs like that with Finn in public, feels too much like putting himself on display in a way he can't. "Sorry, not right now," Kurt says. Finn opens his mouth to protest or cajole, but Quinn interrupts. She stands and reaches for Kurt's arm. "Come on, I need a cigarette."

"I don't smoke," Kurt says, but he lets himself be pulled from his seat.

She shakes her head. "Doesn't matter, they won't let you get away with sitting it out once they get going, unless you remove yourself."

"Ah," he says and goes with her.

Quinn takes a stool at the far end return of the bar, near the front of the building. Behind them is an open diamond paned window that lets in the occasional flash of headlights and gust of night time air. To their right, is a wide archway leading into a room with a vacant pool table. Millie brings over a glass ashtray and a small rotary fan that she plugs in under the bar.

"What'll it be, Quinnie?" she asks.

Kurt raises an eyebrow at the diminutive nickname, but Quinn remains smiling placidly. "A glass of Zinfandel, if you have any left, and whatever my friend Kurt wants." She slips a pack of real cigarettes and a stainless steel lighter from a pocket inside the breast of her jacket. As vices go, it's not one Kurt expected, but he refrains from comment.

"A Shirley Temple, please?" Kurt asks. One Margarita was enough. "And some water."

"Sure thing," Millie says, and she turns away to get their drinks.

Finn has roped Blaine into singing with him: Queen's "Under Pressure". Blaine takes Bowie's part. Perhaps the evening now has a theme.

Millie brings their drinks, with extra cherries floating in Kurt's Shirley Temple and a very generous pour in the wide bowl of Quinn's wine glass. "So how's Marley doing?" Quinn asks.

"Oh, you know, she's in New York this week, meeting with some people from The Huffington Post. They want to add her to their line up officially."

"That's great news. You must be proud."

Millie beams. "I am. She'll be back though to visit, can't stay away from the action, that girl."

"Wait," Kurt interjects. "Marley Rose is your daughter?" Kurt's been following her YouTube channel for the past year or so. She covers the LA Shatterdome as a kind of a freelance journalist. Her interview with Quinn after the San Diego battle is one of Kurt's favourites.

"That she is," Millie says. She sets a wooden bowl of cheddar cheese Goldfish crackers between him and Quinn.

Everyone is someone here. So many names and faces from Kurt's hopeful daydreaming. "That's amazing," Kurt says. "Congratulations to her."

Blaine comes up to the bar then, flushed and out of breath, smelling of clean sweat and smiling widely. He leans forward, braced on his elbows and lifts up to his toes. "Some water please, Milady?"

Millie makes a show of faux swooning, and scoops ice into a highball.

"Hey, Kurt," Blaine says, turning his bright eyes and smile onto Kurt.

"Hi," Kurt says.

"Happy Birthday," says Blaine, and before Kurt can reply, he takes his glass of water with a thank you, and brushes past behind them, to join Sam at the pool table.

Kurt sips his Shirley Temple while Quinn and Millie chat. Millie's making some polite inquiries about Quinn's sister and her family back east. Quinn's sister has a daughter who's just started pre-school. He watches Quinn as she speaks, not really listening, just looking at her. Her whole manner compels his interest, the precision and grace of her smiles, the bend of her wrist, the way she lowers her eyelashes or tilts her head as speaks or as she listens.

Millie excuses herself to serve another patron, and Quinn says, without looking at Kurt, "You're staring." She taps ash from the end of her cigarette with one hand, and lifts her wine glass with the other.

Flustered and caught, Kurt goes hot. "I'm sorry," he manages. "I don't mean to—that is, you're very, um—"

"It's all right," she says, glancing at him. She seems more amused than anything. "I don't mind."

Kurt blinks and rearranges his hands on the bar.

"I've had fans before," she says. "You're sweet. And I understand that your romantic interests would align better with Mr. Anderson's."

"Blaine?"

"Mmhm."

Kurt looks over at the pool table. Sam's bent over, squinting down the length of a pool cue with his tongue protruding from the side of his mouth. Blaine's standing on the other side of the table looking directly back at Kurt. He smiles, but glances away when Kurt meets his gaze. "Are they a couple?"

"Blaine and Sam? No. Much to Blaine's regret."

It's abruptly too much like high school gossip—or one of Carole's soaps. He's not sure what Quinn's angle is. Matchmaking? He pauses, lets the clack of the pool balls and the burr of conversation fill the empty space while he thinks to speak carefully. "I'm not looking for something like that for myself," he says.

Meanwhile, it looks like Sam made his shot, and now he's gloating—in a fashion—standing with his pool cue brandished like a sword. "'Only your hatred can destroy me,'" he says, in a credible, but exaggerated, impression of James Earl Jones as Darth Vader.

Kurt can't help but comment. "Are you sure those two are qualified to be Rangers?"

Quinn follows his gaze. Blaine's got his pool cue up too, and he and Sam are swinging at each other slow-motion, with Sam making dramatic _jwooshing_ noises. Kurt knows the Star Wars films well enough to recognize the scene they're playacting. Soon enough, Sam brings his pool cue down on Blaine's forearm. Blaine drops his cue with a clatter and creeps around the side of the table, tucking his 'injured' hand against his chest. She nods slowly. "You'll find, there's a lot of stress, doing what we do. We don't tend to judge each other for the harmless things that get us through the night."

"Okay," Kurt says, he looks back at Sam and Blaine. "Still, you'd think pretending to be the death-harried heroes of a science fiction saga would have less escapist appeal, given the circumstances."

Quinn huffs a laugh.

"'Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father,'" Sam intones.

"Let them play," she says. "There's no harm in it, taking some fun where you can." Then she turns a wider smile on Kurt. "'After all, we're all mad here.'"

That line, quite familiar, is not from Star Wars. It takes Kurt a moment to place it—and play along, in the correct spirit of fun things, he hopes. "'How do you know I'm mad?'"

Her smile widens even more. "'You must be, or you wouldn't have come here.'"

A beat of comfortable silence between them then, as Sam reaches out to Blaine to declare dramatically, "I am your father." And Blaine responds with the requisite, distraught wail, "'No, that's not true, that's impossible!'" It's surreal enough.

"So you're saying we're down the rabbit hole then?" Kurt says.

"Yes, Alice." Quinn raises her glass to toast. "Welcome to Wonderland."

*   *   *

That evening, though Kurt is tired in body and mind, he can't sleep. He lies in his bunk looking up at the unfamiliar ceiling, all metal beams and exposed pipes, ducts, and conduits. Idly, he wonders what he could do to soften the space. Flicks on his bedside light. Considers going to Finn's room as he would have when they were younger and at home. Rejects the notion, but gets up and gets dressed anyway, soft clothes he can move in. He should take the time to stretch out his overtaxed muscles to avoid stiffness and pain in the morning, but there's not enough floor space in his cabin. Finn hasn't shown him to the gym or combat room yet, but he has a map of the facility on his phone.

So he makes his way down to the combat room and gym. His rubber-soled trainers tap a forlorn and muted echo in the dim emptiness of the Shatterdome's metal corridors. The air is cool and in motion, tossing up hints of salt and sea in the intersections. But it's hard to orient himself without resorting to his map. The fresh air doesn't make up for the lack of windows. He can't forget he's in a fortress.

He takes the long route to the gym, noting locations like the armory and the medical bay. Eventually makes it to the combat room. The wide mats of the floor invite his presence. Kurt slips off his shoes and socks, unzips his hoodie, and leaves them on a bench along the wall. Then he steps out with bare feet and bare arms. His skin prickles with a light chill and he flexes his toes into the firm cushion of the mat. Feels good.

It's been a while, but, he finds, as he works through a bunch of standing stretches, that his body wants to keep moving. He steps to the end of the mat, bows to an imaginary partner, and then widens his stance into readiness. Closes his eyes while he recalls his balance. Then he moves slowly, left foot forward, block low left, step, turn, punch, step, turn, block high...

He thinks about procedural memory and how his body holds the knowledge. He works through the kata again—still slow—and again, until he can feel the flow of it and he stops thinking. He loses himself in the integration of movement and mind.


	10. Chapter 10

**2022**

Nothing comes through The Breach in June.

Kurt finds a routine: breakfast, then hands-on training or work, lunch and a walk down to the beach, to get some air and sun. Then he's behind a desk for the afternoon, reading manuals and system specs until he's cross-eyed.

The best part of his afternoons at a desk, is when he gets an email out of the blue from a more senior J-Tech engineer in Anchorage, Mako Mori, saying that Isabelle had suggested she get in touch with him due to their shared interest in Jaeger design. Miss Mori's been tasked with overseeing a (currently under funded) Mark-3 restoration project. If all goes well, Gipsy Danger will be retrieved from Oblivion Bay and taken to Anchorage for repair and refit. Miss Mori is interested in Kurt's ideas.

Thus, they begin a regular correspondence, drafting and brainstorming and—as their work relationship grows—even daydreaming up a new Mark-6 project. Kurt sends her his CAD files, and she adds her own flourishes, modifications, and enthusiastic notes. Tentatively they name the Jaeger they're designing together Vector Neon. It starts looking like a machine that could exist in reality.

Then it's dinner, and then card games or trips to The Blue Rose or Skyping with his Dad and Carole or Mercedes. Or movie nights in the cafeteria. Or simply crashing early, because he rarely manages to sleep more than four hours at a time. His brain is too busy. The trips to the combat room in the small hours have become regular—three or four times a week. Life is good.

The first disruption to his routine comes about two weeks after his arrival, one absurdly early morning on the mat. He's finishing up, standing for a moment with his eyes closed, focused on his breathing, when gentle clapping comes from behind him. Kurt startles and turns. The flicker of fear is instant, but banished quickly. He hasn't forgotten where he is.

It's Blaine Anderson. "Sorry," Blaine says, and he raises his hands in the universal not-a-threat display. "I was passing by and saw you—you've got some nice moves."

Kurt blinks at the compliment. It's not that he's embarrassed, but he's aware of how much hand-to-hand combat training the Rangers get. He's not on the same level, and he doesn't need to be patronized. "I'm out of practice," he says. "I know this is pretty basic stuff."

The warmth and steadiness of Blaine's gaze remains unspecifically unsettling. Mostly, Kurt still doesn't know how to interact with Blaine. He becomes too self-conscious when Blaine's attention is on him. Too aware that Blaine is the first other openly gay man Kurt's met. Not that Kurt wishes to assume anything about Blaine's impressions of or intentions toward him. But he's never been looked at with this kind of frank appraisal by a man. "But you move well," Blaine says. "Strong and very precise." He sounds nothing if not wholly sincere.

"Thank you," Kurt says to the second compliment; it seems safe enough.

Blaine puts his hands on his hips and cocks his head. "So what brings a nice boy like you to a place like this at three a.m.?"

It's delivered with enough humor and self-awareness that Kurt's not sure if Blaine's actually flirting or just trying to be funny.

"Couldn't sleep," Kurt says, choosing a literal response. "Some nights I can't, and I just kind of need to move to get my brain to quiet down."

"I have a not dissimilar problem," Blaine says. "I'm on my way to the heavy bag." He makes a quick double punch to illustrate.

"Ah," Kurt says, unsure of how else to respond. Blaine is nice enough to look at with his sleep rumpled hair and casual white tank top, but Kurt looks at the floor.

After a silence long enough to rustle up discomfort, "Well," Blaine says slowly. "I'll let you get back to it then? Nice seeing you, Kurt."

Kurt looks up to watch Blaine leave the mat for the equipment room, "Likewise," he says lamely and too late, and he curses his own awkwardness.

*   *   *

The days pass, packed with learning and activity. On the run up to Romeo's next patrol—the second since Kurt's arrived—Kurt's assigned to help Daphne prep the Pons system in the Conn-Pod. It won't be part of his regular duties, but Cmdr Wright wants him to be familiar with all the systems. He's been looking forward to it all week, getting his hands on the more esoteric technology.

They run diagnostics on the Pons system and the Jaeger's AI; clean and replenish the neural relay gel; and go over the pilots' cradles, cleaning and lubricating, and making sure all the moving parts are in working order.

Kurt works on the left side—Finn's side—and can't banish his envy as his hands move over the mechanisms that merge the pilots' movements to that of the Jaeger. Each joint and gear, cool metal and smooth motion, has carried Finn into the fight. Which makes it an extension of Finn in a way. How well Kurt does this job is as important as all the others, but it's more personal. Daphne compliments him on the thoroughness of his work.

The last thing they do is check the levels of ambient radiation in the chamber. Daphne explains that though the shielding on the Mark-1 reactor has been improved, and the Conn-Pod is stored separately to minimize its exposure and saturation, they still have to monitor the levels carefully. "Quinn's overdue for a break," she says. "But she won't take one." It's a reminder that the Kaiju aren't the only dangers the Rangers face, particularly not in the first generation of Jaegers.

But recent setbacks, Kurt knows, have left the PPDC short on experienced pilots. A Jaeger like Romeo Blue, particularly with its service record, should have the downtime to be properly upgraded to a new power core, but with no new Jaegers to take up the slack—with fewer Jaegers standing—it's not just money that's lacking, it's time.

And as June draws to a close, Kurt can feel the creep of time tightening all around him, like a new skin on a drying drum head. Each day without a Breach Event draws the Shatterdome into a more acute awareness of the wait.

Every day, when Kurt leaves the hangar, he looks at the clock that tallies the days since the last Breach Event. Two months now without. It'll happen soon.

*   *   *

July is different. The time keeps ticking past, palpable and unsettling; the beat of each hour passes like the _plink_ of a leaking faucet. Tick-tock, drip-drip. And so Kurt embraces the things he finds that do get him through the night.

Kurt continues waking sometime between 2 and 4 AM, dressing, and going down to the combat room to work through katas. Here, he has quiet and space. Sometimes the quiet is punctuated by the rhythmic _thump-thuh-thump-thump_ of Blaine's fists hitting the heavy bag. But it's distant and separate—Blaine doesn't interrupt him again. It grows comforting, Blaine's presence. That somehow they're working in parallel, though they don't speak much beyond greeting each other when they pass in the locker room. It's a kind of silent, inferred connection, an increasingly easier one. Without Sam by his side, Blaine takes up space in a calmer manner. Kurt finds he prefers the nights Blaine is there to the ones he isn't.

And he discovers, they're not the only ones with nocturnal habits. The first time Kurt sees Quinn walking in the hall, with her hair brushed loose around her ears and wearing a floor length green satin dressing gown with matching velour slippers, he says hello, she says hello, and that's it. He doesn't wish to disturb her night time walk. He doesn't see her every night he's up, and they never pause to speak. So it's a while before he understands, she's not simply walking, she has a destination: Finn's room.

Kurt catches her knocking lightly on Finn's door, hears the latch open, Finn's voice, warm and welcoming, and he turns away, quickens his step down the corridor to the elevator.

He's on edge when he gets to the mat. Tries to convince himself that he's not jealous. Or if he is jealous, he shouldn't be. He loves Finn, admires Quinn. They share something he can't understand. Whatever gets them through the night—that's valuable to them both and deserves his respect and acceptance.

Yet, he struggles to find focus and clarity. Tries to work through this distraction, tries to put it from his mind. The thoughts he can banish, but the uneasiness in his body is harder to shed. He pauses to catch his breath. Closes his eyes and listens to the even cadence of Blaine's punches. More grateful for them tonight than he's ever been. Opens his eyes and steps off the mat, goes into the gym to find the source of that steadiness.

"Um. Hi?" he says.

Blaine pauses, steadies the bag, and turns. His hair frames his face in damp curls, his cheeks are flushed, and his lips parted. His eyes widen. "Hey, Kurt," he says. "What can I do for you?" Blaine's not exactly smiling. Actually, he's not smiling at all; he looks too surprised. But his eyes and his body are open, asking Kurt as much as his words are. As if Blaine is here for Kurt, and he's just been waiting.

"I was wondering if—" The thought forms with the words. Kurt hasn't been wondering anything; he just followed an intuitive urge. "—you'd like to spar with me tonight?"

"Oh," Blaine says, brightens. He unstraps his gloves and picks up his towel. "I would."

Blaine unwinds the cotton wrap from his hands as they head to the mat. He rolls them up and sets them down on a bench. Wipes the sweat from his face, chest, and arms before loosely folding and placing his towel beside them. He takes off his shoes and socks, arranges them neatly under the bench.

Kurt catches himself staring and moves away, stepping on to the mat. He says, "It's been a while since I did this with anyone. The last guy I hit wasn't even practice."

"You don't need to hold back with me," Blaine says. He shakes out his arms and steps onto the mat facing Kurt. "I can take whatever you want to dish out."

Again, it sounds like Blaine's flirting with him, like this is a double entendre, like sparring is like sex. Blaine's smiling at him, like this is play. Like this is fun. It's never felt playful to Kurt. He's dumbfounded. Maybe this isn't a good idea.

Blaine must see his discomfort. "I don't know what kind of instruction you've had, but here, we're told, this kind of thing, between Rangers, it's a conversation, not a competition. We're not trying to hurt each other, but learning to work together. Give and take. Understand?"

"I'm not a Ranger," Kurt says.

Blaine shrugs. "You wanted to be, didn't you?"

It unnerves Kurt that Blaine knows this about him, when he knows relatively little about Blaine. Isn't sure he likes, either, that Finn talks about him to people Kurt doesn't know well. But the reflexive bristling, Kurt quashes. Blaine's not making fun of him. That he wanted to be a Ranger isn't a secret that needs to be kept here. He's not the only one.

"I did," Kurt says, and decides they've talked enough—with words anyway. He straightens and bows to Blaine to indicate his readiness to begin. "Shall we have a different conversation, then?"

"Do your worst," Blaine says, smiling. He falls into a fighting stance easily.

Kurt raises an eyebrow, lifts his chin. "I prefer to do my best," Kurt says archly.

"I'm sure you do," Blaine says, teasing. It's affectionate, not mean or mocking.

They begin. Blaine dodges Kurt's first punch, and Kurt blocks his reply. It's quickly clear that Blaine's style is different from his—a union of different fighting traditions—and Kurt always wondered what it would be like to face someone with different training. Over time, the uniformity in the dojo lent matches a certain kind of predictability. One of the reasons Kurt was able to leave it behind with fewer regrets. This is a new challenge. Refreshing.

They break apart after Kurt lands the first successful punch.

"Nice," Blaine says as they circle each other.

"You better not be letting me win."

"Not a chance," Blaine says, and he comes at Kurt.

Blaine is good—better than Kurt is, but, while he's not giving in to Kurt, he's not flaunting it. True to his word, they're conversing. It's like Blaine's letting Kurt find a rhythm. And Kurt is, himself, better than he expected to be. He hasn't had to think like this—in second by second tactical decisiveness, trusting his instincts and his body—for years now. It feels good. Better than good. As does the solid, concrete impact of each block and hit.

When they finish, Blaine having scored four hits to Kurt's three, Kurt's equally breathless, bruised, and elated. "Thank you," he says, as they step off the mat. "I really needed that."

Blaine looks at him for a long time with a direct gaze. Kurt makes himself meet it. It's not challenging, it's not even searching. It's just looking, like he wants to see Kurt. "Anytime," Blaine says.

"Sure," Kurt says, nods, and sits to pull his socks on. He'll shower in his room.

"I mean it," Blaine says. "This is more fun with a partner than it is solo, you know?" This time, Kurt detects no innuendo or potential flirtation.

Fun. Kurt thinks, maybe, yeah, it can be. Tonight, this was fun. "I'll make sure to look for you next time," Kurt says.

"Ditto," says Blaine.

*   *   *

July twenty-fourth, the waiting ends. The alarm goes off at 4:57 AM local. Kurt's only been asleep for an hour. He rolls out of bed on autopilot, well-trained from weekly drills. He sheds his pajamas—leaves them on the floor while he hauls on his coveralls and shoes. He heads directly down to the hangar. Hears the news on his way. A Category III Kaiju, Taurax, is headed for the Philippines. Davao City is its predicted destination.

Mammoth Apostle is ready to go. Romeo's got his chest open today, waiting for the installation of the rest of his new bones to better support his Peres cannons. Both the Shatterdome's Marshal Tibideaux and Cmdr Wright worked hard to find the funding. Searched under all the sofa cushions in the land, Cmdr Wright had joked, to be able to implement his old idea to better manage the heat issues. In truth, some of the funding came through legitimate channels: a continuing resolution, brought before congress by his father and a bipartisan group of colleagues, passed. It grants funds to the US arm of the Jaeger program in the absence of UN funding. They're making the most of the windfall.

And while they've got Romeo's chest cracked open, he's getting a heart transplant: the long overdue installation of a new nuclear core for Romeo's generator. It'll swap the original strontium for plutonium oxide. It means the thinner shielding will be more effective, and the Jaeger's power supply will operate both more powerfully and more efficiently. They're going to do both jobs while Romeo's down. They're just waiting on another shipment of the superalloy struts from Ohio and the delivery of the new core. The high level of security around nuclear materials makes it a slow process.

Kurt shouldn't feel as much relief as he does that it's Elliott and Dani heading to the Drivesuit room, while Quinn and Finn sit this one out.

Down in the hangar, the massive doors of Apostle's bay roll open. A scatter of small clouds hang in the brightly lit hangar, fat with the early morning's humidity. The ocean breeze is cool; the predawn sky the color of oxidized lead.

Distantly, Kurt hears the shuddering whine of the Jumphawks spinning up. He helps the team perform the final check of Apostle's systems. Chase has gone over it with him every day, so though this is his first time, he knows exactly where to be and what to do. Doesn't have to think too much, just act. The engineering team makes sure all the lines are detached and scaffolding retracted, hydraulics primed. LOCCENT announces the countdown to launch. The Conn-Pod drops down, locks into its spot between Apostle's shoulders with a series of explosive snaps like gunfire, and the Jaeger animates. Its arms move in the ritual gestures to confirm the pilots and machine are synced. It's always surprised Kurt how gracefully the machines move.

"Neural Handshake complete," the Jaeger’s AI reports.

Mammoth Apostle nods its broad head, gives a thumbs-up, and rotates to face the sea. The docking platform rolls out into the pregnant morning darkness, and the Jumphawk formation, all noise and navigation lights, descends with the Jaeger's harness.

Movement at Kurt's shoulder. He turns to see Blaine, serious-faced as he watches Apostle. Kurt can still feel an especially tender spot on his ribs from their match two hours ago. He raises his voice and leans in toward Blaine, "Did you manage any sleep?"

Blaine shakes his head, no. Kurt offers a sympathetic grimace. Together they watch Apostle's lift-off, the Jaeger's silhouette a barely discernible shadow against the western sky, its shape marked by its anti-collision lights, blinking along the Jaeger's edges like a connect-the-dots drawing.

"Coffee?" Kurt asks.

Blaine nods and flashes Kurt a glance and tight smile, but his attention returns to the retreating form of Apostle, as if reluctant to let it out of his sight. His body turns, but his head lags. Kurt supposes Blaine wants to be one of the pilots. It must be frustrating, being the back-up. Always a bridesmaid.

Lightly, Kurt touches Blaine's elbow, and Blaine comes with him to the cafeteria.

Once they're seated with their coffee steaming in their stainless steel mugs, "Are you okay?" Kurt asks him.

Blaine closes his eyes and ducks his chin. Opens his eyes and smiles with more vigor, looks more like himself. "Yeah," he says. "Fine. Just—"

"Dude!" Comes from behind Kurt. It's Sam. He comes around the table and drops down beside Blaine, his back to the table and Kurt. He claps a hand to Blaine's shoulder. "You have family in Mindanao?"

Oh. Kurt swallows a too large, too hot mouthful of coffee too fast, winces.

"No," Blaine says, softly. "But, someone does. And, you know..." Blaine trails off with a scowl and a shrug.

"Yeah," Sam says. "Bad memories. Yeah." And he leans against Blaine's shoulder. Blaine closes his eyes again and tips his head against Sam's.

Kurt is both curious and feels like an intruder. He stares down into his coffee and listens to the clanging of the cafeteria staff setting out the morning's hot breakfast. The smell of sausage spices and eggs mingles with the bitter coffee scent. Kurt empties his mug and considers heading back to his quarters to freshen up before he eats, now that he has the time. With Sam here, Blaine doesn't need his company.

"Hey?" Blaine says. He reaches across the table to touch Kurt's hand as Kurt braces himself to stand.

Kurt looks up.

"Thank you," Blaine says, smiles. His eyes are warm. "For the coffee."

*   *   *

Kurt lies in bed watching C-SPAN on his room's comm screen. His father's giving a floor speech, lauding the passage of the bill that's funding the North American Jaeger program through the end of the year, and asking for the inclusion of more money in the coming year's budget.

_"This is a start," his Dad says, "A good one. My sons—you know my sons, one of them rides in Romeo Blue, the other helps keep 'im running—they tell me they're doing great things out there in LA, and up in Alaska too. They're hoping to bring Gipsy Danger back from the dead. How great would that be? Pretty great, I tell you._

_But it's only a start. It's not enough. We all watched the news this week, saw how ANZAC's Striker Eureka took down that Category III monster, Taurax, like it was nothing. Saved one and half million people. Not a single casualty._

_"Of course we all know it's not nothing, what these Jaegers and their crews do. We've seen our brave Rangers and their war machines fall to the claws and teeth of those monsters that keep coming, keep crawling up out of Hell like demons sent to destroy us all._

_"So, it makes me wonder why we're content with having a dwindling corps of Jaegers around the world while the monsters keep getting bigger and stronger and smarter. Look at the news. You all know it's true. The tide is turning and we're just sitting on our collective ass with some kind of magical thinking, that a wall—a wall for God's sake—is going to keep us safe. Yeah. Really._

_"Folks, I hate to break it to you, but a wall has never solved a problem. Even going back centuries to the last time a wall was actually useful—you know, the good old days of castles and knights and invading barbarians—the only thing a wall did was slow down the attackers long enough for someone else to come and save the town._

_"Well, I'm telling you now—no one else is coming save us. The only people who can save this town is us and those brave Jaeger pilots taking the fight to the enemy. I say we ignore those who would have us cower behind walls in the vain hope that somebody else is going to come save us. Who's that supposed to be? Santa Claus?_

_"What I would like you all to consider is this: The best we've got shouldn't be a single four year old machine. Herc and Chuck Hansen—as excellent as they are—can't be everywhere at once with their one war horse. So I propose to you, that much like Australia and New Zealand did—independently of the UN funding schedule—we band together with our Pacific allies in North, South, and Central America and build a new American Mark-6 Jaeger._

_"We've got the plans, we've got the people, and we've got the technology. All we need is the social and political will. I want to see funding the Mark-6 program a priority in this coming year's budget._

_"Thank you. I yield the remainder of my time to the gentlewoman from Washington."_

Kurt nearly gets on his feet and cheers.

*   *   *

Buoyed by the slow change in the political weather, Kurt helps complete the modest upgrades to Romeo Blue. The new structural lattice in Romeo's chest goes in with the upgraded core, and Romeo also gets a new loading system—at Miss. Mori's suggestion—to rapidly switch between ammunition belts. With more space in his chest, Romeo can carry more options, be flexible, adaptable.

And with his confidence boosted by his overnight sparring with Blaine, Kurt starts going to the combat room during the afternoons. First simply to watch and listen, and later, he accepts invitations to the mat to spar with others, accepts pointers and instruction from Brittany. Learns new moves.

The evenings are good too. For the first time in his life he has a group of friends. Even Sam, Kurt starts to appreciate. And there continues to be music. Not just karaoke at The Blue Rose (where Kurt cautiously begins to participate and finds an unexpected karaoke duet partner in Elliott), but impromptu jam sessions hosted in (usually) Dani and Elliott's shared quarters. Everyone brings snacks and drinks and pillows, and they crowd into the small space. Kurt usually perches on the top bunk between Quinn and Tina and they watch the procedings. Dani and Elliott usually start, with a guitar each. Someone nominates a musical style, and they run with it. Being Drift partners, their ability to improvise is astounding and uncanny. Then Sam or Blaine will start to sing—almost always humorous silly rhymes.

Brittany and Mike will dance, and Finn will drum on metal bowls and plastic cups with wooden chopsticks. Artie provides soulful back up. It lasts until there's too much laughter to carry on. And then it gets quiet, and they talk. Dani will curl up with Blaine and he'll braid her hair. Elliot will pass Sam his guitar and Sam will pick out gentle tunes to provide a soundtrack to the room's conversation.

No one talks about the future, that's maybe the strangest thing about it.

Kurt wonders if it's unreasonable for him to be this happy.

*   *   *

**NOVEMBER 2022**

November arrives and Kurt's's thinking about going back to Ohio for the holidays. It's been over a year since Finn's been home, and while Kurt understands that Rangers can't really afford time off, it'd be nice. It's been long enough since the last Breach Event, though, the Marshal is unlikely to grant Finn leave.

Then comes a Breach Event on the morning of the sixth. A Category III Kaiju codenamed Esceor heads up to St. Lawrence Island. Coyote Tango deploys from Tokyo. It arrives ahead of Cherno Alpha and Vulcan Specter and is destroyed with startlingly surgical precision by the Kaiju; both pilots die. Kurt feels like he's tempted fate by wishing for a clear month to go home with Finn.

The loss of Coyote Tango and her pilots casts a pall over everything. Romeo and Cherno are the last Mark-1's standing. No one says anything—they don't have to—that the next sortie for either Jaeger could well be its last.

There's a public memorial service in Japan, with a delayed translation into English overlaid on the audio. The prime minister gives the eulogy and it's piped through to every screen in the Shatterdome, from the biggest displays in the hangar to the small comm screens in every crew billet.

Days later, they watch live at The Blue Rose in silence, as Coyote's wreck is carried into Oblivion Bay. Stacker Pentecost, the surviving half of Coyote Tango's original team and Marshal of the Anchorage Shatterdome, is there. With the broken Jaeger as a backdrop, he gives a different kind of eulogy to Gunnar and Vic Tunari, as well as to the machine itself. He talks about his late co-pilot, Tamsin Sevier and the beginning of the Jaeger program. He speaks of the other Mark-1 pilots and the Jaegers that have fallen. Calls for renewed determination in the aftermath of loss. Calls for the public not to turn away, not to feel complacent, not to ignore the sacrifice or underestimate what still must be done. "Lest we forget," he thunders, "the sacrifices of these brave Rangers who keep the monsters from our shores. We in the PPDC will continue to stand and we will continue to fight with all we have. To do anything less would be a dishonor to those who have fallen."

*   *   *

That evening, Kurt's hands are numb as he works on Romeo. He has to keep this Jaeger safe, for Finn, for Quinn, for the people they're protecting. For their family, for himself. He skips combat class and dinner. Keeps working, going over systems, over and over, finding the smallest variances outside perfect, repairing things that don't, technically, need repairs. Optimizing everything he's able to. Making this Jaeger as perfect as it can be. The tension and worry knot at the base of his skull and behind his eyes, a monster of a headache creeping upon him. He can't afford it. He reaches for his water bottle, but it's empty. He digs two red gel capsules out of the pill box in his breast pocket, swallows them down, dry and sticky.

It's well after nine PM when Finn brings him a tray from the cafeteria. The smell of the tepid food sours his stomach. "You need to take a break," Finn says from the door of the Conn-Pod. "You need to eat something."

Kurt knows they're running out of time, shakes his head. Finn grabs his hand, takes the inspection camera out of it. "Please?" Kurt looks at him. Sees Finn's eyes are red-rimmed and the lines of his mouth and brow are worried, sad.

Kurt stiffly unfolds his legs and stands. Finn helps him up. His head throbs painfully. Finn's probably right. "Okay," he says. Another Kaiju won't be coming through the Breach today.

"Some of us were planning to go down to the beach tonight, light some candles, say some words about Gunnar and Vic—kind of an impromptu wake, I guess. Do you want to come?"

Kurt shakes his head. He didn't know Coyote's Rangers or fight beside them or work on their Jaeger. "No, you go without me."

"Nah, Quinn'll be fine with the others. You and me can stay in together. I have an idea."

They end up in Finn's quarters, sitting side by side on Finn's bed, eating partially frozen cheesecake bars, drinking cocoa spiked with Frangelico--which Finn has because in Alaska it was a popular addition to hot drinks to warm up after training in the cold--and watching Disney's _Beauty and the Beast_ "I've missed this," Kurt says.

"Me too," Finn replies, and he puts an arm around Kurt, pulls him against his side.

Kurt stiffens for a moment, and then, slowly, muscle by muscle, relaxes into Finn's embrace, and eventually drifts to sleep there.

*   *   *

Kurt's phone buzzes with a text while he's on his way to breakfast. It's from Mako: "Kurt! Check your email!"

He does and nearly walks into a wall. Funding for the Mark-6 is a go. They'll be laying her keel in Anchorage by the end of the year.

"OH MY GOD!" he texts back. She replies with a champagne toast emoji.

*   *   *

Quinn comes to lunch one afternoon with her eyes shot with red. She sits as straight as ever and tells them the news calmly, without so much as a quaver in her voice. At her routine physical, the doctor found a mass in her lungs. "It's not because of the cigarettes," she says, forcing a smile, but no one laughs. Quinn's being dismissed, with high honors, from her PPDC service to begin her cancer treatment.

Finn—and Romeo Blue—will need a new pilot.

*   *   *

That evening, after dinner, Kurt's on his way to his room to change clothes—they're heading to The Blue Rose tonight, a farewell for Quinn. She catches up with him outside the door to his quarters. She's swapped her flight jacket for a navy blue cardigan. It's wool with delicate rosette patterns across the breast. She wears it over a taupe, blue, and yellow plaid dress with a tailored bodice and a knee length A-line skirt. Cream tights and dark brown, lace-up ankle boots with a wedge heel complete her outfit. She looks young, like a schoolgirl.

But her gaze is as unflinching as always, and carries too much knowledge of pain for anyone to mistake her for a schoolgirl. "This may sound crazy," she says, "but hear me out, please."

"I'm listening," Kurt says.

"I want to nominate you as one of my potential replacements. Finn's agreed."

Shock freezes his feet to the floor, his hand on his doorknob. "What?" Kurt asks.

She doesn't repeat herself. "I understand your incredulity," she says, "but I want you to seriously consider it."

*   *   *

Serious consideration is quick and leads to just one possible conclusion: "I can't do it," Kurt tells Quinn a few hours later. They're sitting at the bar, just the two of them, a wooden bowl with a few broken pretzels littering its bottom sits between them. At the other end of the counter, Millie is pouring a tray of shots, equal parts bourbon and amaretto.

Quinn rolls her eyes at him and places a cigarette between her lips. She speaks around it. "At least sleep on it before making up your mind." She lights up.

"No, I can't. Quinn, I'm sorry, but even if I had the training—"

"I've seen you fight. You know the Jaeger as well as anyone, and better than most. More than that, you know Finn. So what exactly do you think you're lacking?" she asks him.

"Experience." It's true, but it's not the reason he's declining, so it feels like he's lying. He sets his jaw with determination.

She flicks an eyebrow up and tilts her head dismissively. "In this business, everyone lacks that at first. Finn would bring enough for the both of you, and you would learn quickly with him. He's got, not just his own experience, but mine and Santana's--even some of David's. It forms a kind of aggregate over time, in the Drift."

"You don't understand. I can't go into the Drift with Finn."

She looks at him, takes a long drag from her cigarette. The tip flares and burns to ash, starts to crumble before she can tap it off in the ashtray. She exhales the smoke slowly and blinks at him like a cat. "I believe you can. I'm confident the two of you are compatible, and that's the most important factor."

"It's not that," Kurt says. "Surely Sam or Blaine—"

"Are not likely to be nearly as compatible with Finn. They're good together, but needlessly separating a pair of pilots with their level of Drift rapport would be foolish. They could pilot Romeo together, sure. They likely will take a few patrols with him while Finn selects a new co-pilot, but you know as well as I do that the preference is always for a Ranger team with at least one combat experienced pilot going into an actual fight. Finn will get a new co-pilot, and I believe the best option is you."

"I'm not," Kurt says. "Please believe me. I can't be."

"Self-doubt doesn't suit you." she says.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Then what is it? A secret? Something you're ashamed of or scared of?"

Kurt goes cold, and then he goes too hot. He can't meet her eyes.

"You shouldn't doubt Finn either," she says. "He loves you, more than you can likely imagine. I've felt it in him. There's nothing you could do or say that will change that. And I know you love him too."

Kurt nods. Can't speak. Sips his drink—a Dirty Shirley tonight, with cherry Heering and vodka added to the usual ginger ale and grenadine. Millie still gives him extra cherries. Seven bob in his glass. It's not an omen. Lucky Seven lies in Oblivion Bay, but Herc Hansen still fights, piloting Striker Eureka with his son, Chuck. Kurt can't remember what happened to Herc's brother. Scott, was it? He was dismissed from the PPDC, no reason ever given publicly. Kurt wonders if it was something like a mass in his lung. The world is strange and cruel. Kurt concentrates on breathing evenly to slow his galloping heart.

When she speaks again, Quinn's tone is gentler, and she lays her hand over his forearm. Her short fingernails are painted the same color taupe as the color in her dress. "Maybe you think you love him too much, is that what you're afraid of?"

He blinks and bites into his bottom lip. Not a conversation he expected to be having. Definitely not with Quinn. He bows his head: it's the closest to an acknowledgement he can make.

"It's not a bad thing, if you do."

Kurt frowns, confused.

"Love," Quinn clarifies. "It's what makes the Drift strongest."

Fighting with love. He's heard other Rangers say similar things in interviews. He assumed it was romanticization of a necessary, psychologically uncomfortable process. Maybe it's more than that. "That's why you and he, uh."

She nods. "When you share the Drift with someone often, it can be hard to be apart from them, or hard to be alone. Sometimes the connection lingers, and it feels..." She closes her eyes. "When it's good, it's a kind of safety, and a longing. For me anyway. I never wanted to let go." Her smile turns self-deprecating. "It wasn't always sex."

Of course he suspected, but hearing her say it so frankly, he blushes. The tacit implications of what she's telling him don't cohere. The intimations aren't soothing or persuasive. He couldn't tolerate—

"There's no need to be jealous," Quinn says. "I care about your stepbrother, and he loves me in the way he loves people, but I know now, he's not for me."

"I'm not jealous," Kurt says quietly. "I'm not _anything_. I just can't do it. Finn is too important to me."

"If that's true, then you'll want him to have the best person possible at his side, and I believe that could be you." Her eyes are suddenly bright with unspilled tears. Her lipstick color has worn off, pink smudges around the rim of her wineglass. Her bare lips twist. "It's not like I want to be asking you to do this, Kurt. I wanted so much to be his Juliet," she says, and Kurt knows she's talking about Romeo as much as she's talking about Finn. "It matters to me that Finn has the best person possible at his side. Right up till the end. I wanted it to be me."

"I'm sorry," Kurt says.

"Don't be," she says, and she smiles tremulously, and something more peaceful glows in her eyes. "But I think—I hope—this may be better. I'm going home for treatment. I'll be with my sister and her family. I'll see Beth."

*   *   *

Now that he's here, Kurt's not entirely sure he should be. Dr. Emma Pillsbury, PPDC Psychologist, sits in a blue wingback chair with a tablet and stylus in her lap. Her orange skirt and yellow cardigan are the brightest colors he's seen in the Shatterdome. A large enamel daisy is pinned at her throat. "Please, Kurt. Have a seat," she says, looking up at him with brown eyes so large they'd look more at home on an anime character. He hasn't seen a counselor since he was a child.

He sits down on the sofa opposite the chair. A teddy bear is tucked into the corner next to him. A therapeutic prop no doubt. He tries smiling. Dr. Pillsbury smiles back.

"You understand this is an informal session, Kurt? I'm not evaluating you today."

"Yes, I understand."

"All right, then," she says. "I understand you're having difficulty with a decision."

"Everyone wants me to put myself forward to pilot Romeo Blue with Finn, and I don't think I can."

"Okay, first of all, tell me who _everyone_ is," she says.

It's not as bad as Kurt feared, talking with Emma (she insists he use her first name). Her kindness is genuine, and she's easy to talk to. As they speak, she helps him to rediscover his old ambition, put to bed so many years ago now, to pilot a Jaeger. The opportunity is before him. How has fear overwhelmed his excitement at that? "Being a Ranger used to be the only thing I wanted to do with my life," he admits.

"It sounds to me," Emma says in the second half of their hour, "that your reluctance has little to do with your confidence in your abilities or your desire to fight."

She's not wrong, and Kurt can't find new ways of trying to express reservations without telling her the truth: "I've been in love with Finn since I was thirteen. I'm scared of what will happen if we Drift together and he finds out."

Emma nods solemnly, and she offers no judgement, only a question: "What's the worst thing you can imagine happening?"

"He'll be angry and disgusted and never want to speak to me again."

She keeps nodding. "And, as well as you know Finn, how likely do you think it is that he would respond that way?"

Kurt bows his head. "Not very. Quinn did tell me I was wrong to doubt him."

"One factor that can make it challenging for two people to become Drift partners," Emma says, "and it's well documented in the literature, is unresolved sexual shame. Feeling guilty for those kinds of feelings."

"Really?"

"Even Caitlin Lightcap and Sergio D'Onofrio in the earliest days of the program struggled with this issue. You're not alone."

"They piloted the prototype, Brawler Yukon, together, killed the first Kaiju."

"Yes they did."

"Okay," Kurt says. He remembers something else Quinn told him, about Blaine having unrequited feelings for Sam. Clearly, it hasn't harmed their partnership.

"It's not insurmountable," Emma says. "Especially not between two people who are as close as you and Finn. Would you like some advice?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Tell Finn how you feel before you make a decision. That way you get to do it on your own terms."

"We're going home for Thanksgiving," Kurt says. "Maybe I can find an opportunity then."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Kurt. At home, where you'll both be feeling safe and relaxed. Getting away from the urgency of the Shatterdome will benefit you both."

*   *   *

Returning to Lima, the town is so small and stagnant. It's like he's been gone for a lifetime and somehow traveled back in time. They drive past the old Dairy Queen on the way home from the airport. It's closed for the winter. The same faded posters hang in the windows, and nearby, the same shabby hair salon sits shuttered and vacant. It all feels disconnected from his life. Familiar but alien.

"They say you never really can come home," Finn says.

"Yeah," Kurt says. "It's so weird."

Yet, pulling into the driveway in their rental car, the comfort returns. Home is still home, and here, Kurt does notice differences, like the magnolia they planted the first spring Carole and Finn lived with them has doubled in size, and the curtains in the front window are new.

His Dad and Carole come out the front door with big smiles and laughter and hugs. "Oh my gosh, you're really here. Look at you both!" Carole says.

It's a lentil 'meatloaf' for dinner. His Dad explains he and Carole are trying a vegan diet ("But don't worry, we're still having turkey!") to keep his heart healthy. It's just as good as Kurt's memory of her traditional recipe, and the mushroom gravy on the mashed potatoes is delicious. The spinach and orange salad is new, and there's no sign of macaroni and cheese. Dessert is a chocolate silk pie made with tofu.

After dinner, they sit around the coffee table with hot spiced cider and play a game of Clue. Emma was right. By the time Finn's declaring that it was Mrs. Peacock with the wrench in the ballroom, the urgency of the Shatterdome is remote, and the comfort of home surrounds him.

*   *   *

Still, it takes Kurt until the night before Thanksgiving to wrangle his courage. It's after eleven when he goes upstairs and knocks on Finn's door.

"Come in," Finn calls out.

So Kurt lets himself in. Finn's on his bed, tapping through something on his tablet. Kurt looks at the walls. Remembers rolling on the Cool Aqua paint, roughly this time of year, back when the feeling he intends to confess was new. He'd come out to his Dad in this room. Perhaps this is the right place for such disclosures. "What's up?" Finn asks.

"I need to tell you something," Kurt says. "It's important."

"Okay." Finn sits up, puts his tablet face down on the mattress, and gestures for Kurt to join him. "Let's talk."

Kurt shakes his head. "Thank you, but no. It's not really a conversation. I just need to say something, so you know it."

"All right," Finn says, frowns in confusion.

Kurt takes a breath. "Do you remember how we met?"

Finn's frown deepens. "I thought you said this wasn't a conversation?"

"It's a rhetorical question." It comes out snippier than Kurt means it to.

"Why are you mad at me?"

"I'm not," Kurt says, and he hears it in his voice. He does sound angry—defensive anyway. Why can't he be softer in a moment like this? He's feeling like a child again, here, in this room, with these familiar feelings so far out of his control. Maybe it's not the right place. But he's already committed himself this far. He takes a breath and makes himself lower his voice. "I'm not. I'm mad at myself. I'm sorry. Let me try again."

Finn pulls his legs into a loose cross. "The parking lot at school," Finn says. "That's how we met."

"I know," Kurt says, and maybe it's the way Finn's smiling at him, fond with the shared memory, but Kurt does feel softer then. The events of the memory are not worthy of affectionate recollection, but their first meeting is. "Ever since then," Kurt says. "Since that day, I've been in love with you."

Finn's frown vanishes, but Kurt can't tell what that means. "Okay," Finn says.

It seems too easy, so Kurt adds, "I don't mean like a friend or like a brother."

A huff of laughter from Finn. "Yeah, I get that."

"You're not... mad?"

"Why would I be?"

"Disappointed?"

Finn shakes his head. "Definitely not. Maybe... more, kind of, relieved?"

"Relieved?" Kurt blinks at him.

"Yeah," Finn says. "Will you come sit down now?" He pats the bed, and—oh, god—that's too much, to even think about being physically that close now.

"Um?" Kurt says. In his chest, his heart feels like the cubes of Jell-o in the fruit salad Finn's Aunt Mellany and Uncle Dan will be bringing tomorrow.

"Were you planning on telling me that and just leaving?" Finn asks. When Kurt hesitates to answer, Finn shakes his head and teases. "A rhetorical question."

"I didn't think you'd want me to stay," Kurt says. "May I sit in the chair?" He waves his hand toward the armchair next to Finn's desk.

"Sure."

Kurt sits, crosses his legs and arranges his hands in his lap. None of his mental rehearsals got him this far. He didn't expect Finn to receive the news with this level of comfort. "Why are you relieved?" he asks.

"Because it means I didn't imagine it."

"Wait..." Kurt says slowly. "Are you telling me you knew how I felt about you?"

"Suspected, maybe, a few times?" Finn says. "But, for a long time, especially when we were younger, it seemed... wrong to assume."

"The times you suspected," Kurt asks, curiosity outweighing tact, "Did it bother you?"

"No," Finn says. "When you were still a kid, I thought it was sweet. You kept insisting you didn't want a boyfriend, so I figured it wasn't anything serious. Some little crush. I don't know. I liked that you liked me. It made it easy to get you to smile, and you were always so serious, I figured you needed to smile more."

That seems reasonable. "And later?" Kurt asks.

"Later..." Finn's voice goes softer, quieter. "The way I'd catch you looking at me. It made me feel, um." Finn flushes pink. "Really good? Sometimes I'd wonder."

"That night in your truck," Kurt says.

"Watching the Perseids?"

"Yes," Kurt moistens his lips. "The way you looked at me when—" And oh, god, is he crying?

"You said you'd settle for a kiss from a boy who cared about you."

Kurt nods and wipes his eyes with his sleeve cuff.

"I did think about it," Finn says.

Kurt tries to swallow the sob that breaks in his chest. He wasn't wrong. He hugs himself and closes his eyes. He feels immensely sad, and he doesn't know why. "Why didn't you?" he asks.

"I couldn't be sure. Whether you really did have feelings for me, and if you did, whether I could mean it the way you'd want me to if I did it. I mean, I liked girls—I like girls. I thought I was straight, so it's not like I wasn't confused, and I knew you'd never want my pity, no matter how well-intentioned. And plus, we're stepbrothers, which I know is technically not, like, actual incest, but it's still—"

"Weird?"

"Yeah, weird," Finn says. "And I was leaving, so it could only have been a mistake, I figured. So I didn't."

"All of that was going through your head?" Kurt asks.

"Shocking, I know."

Kurt laughs and sniffs. "I had no idea."

They share a comfortable silence. The shift of things between them is a palpable skew on Kurt's reality. A whole new perspective through which to filter his past as well as process his present. The future, he won't dare touch.

"Did you ever get that kiss?" Finn asks him.

"No," Kurt says, and it comes out too sharp and too rough. The sickly wash of memory of the one kiss he did get turns his stomach cold. Fresh tears swamp his vision, and he shakes his head. "No. I got a very different kind of first kiss."

"Hey," Finn says, concerned. He slips off the bed and drops down to kneel in front of Kurt. "What happened?"

"Karofsky," Kurt grits out. "He cornered me in the bathroom, and he—"

"He kissed you? That's why you kicked his ass?"

Kurt nods and covers his face with his hands.

Finn swears, bitterly and colorfully. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want you to worry or think I couldn't take care of myself."

Finn rubs Kurt's shoulders. "Hey," he says. "Look at me."

Slowly Kurt unpeels his hands from his face. Finn looks almost stern. "None of us is an island," Finn says. And then, one at a time, he takes Kurt's wrists and draws them apart. He lets go and touches Kurt's face, wipes the tears from Kurt's cheeks with his thumbs. "Okay?"

Finn looks into his eyes and smiles until Kurt smiles back, nods, and replies, "Okay."

And then Finn's leaning up and he's looking at Kurt's mouth and moving his hand to cradle Kurt's jaw and—

"No," Kurt says softly, but alarmed. "Please. Don't." He pushes Finn gently back.

Finn looks confused. "No?"

"No," Kurt says and he shakes his head. More tears come.

"I just..." Finn says, a little helpless, a little chagrined. "Wanted to make a better memory for you."

"I appreciate that," Kurt says. "I do. But it's too much, and you can't _just_ do something like that. You have to be sure."

"Okay," Finn says, smoothing his palms down Kurt's arms over and over to soothe. "Okay. How about a hug instead?"

"Yeah," Kurt says, and Finn pulls him into his arms. Kurt feels small and limp. He can't stop crying.

Finn rubs his back and says, "Man, that must've been a lot of onions."

And just like that, Kurt's laughing instead of sobbing. Laughing with the tears and feeling so grateful and so off kilter and so very very tired. Eventually he disentangles himself from Finn's embrace, wipes his eyes and smiles. "Thank you," he says. "But I'm going to go to bed now."

"Yeah, big day tomorrow," Finn says.


	11. Chapter 11

Thanksgiving morning, Kurt oversleeps. Didn't set an alarm—he so rarely needs one. But it's after 8:30. He needed to get the turkey in the oven an hour ago. But it's not the end of the world. He's not as anxious about it as he would have been a year ago. He makes it upstairs by nine, and finds Carole putting the herb rub on the bird. The oven clicks as it preheats. She gives him a cheerful, "Good morning!" and points with her elbow, "coffee's fresh."

"Thank you," he says.

Looking out the window over the sink at the backyard, the light seems brighter and colors more vibrant. It could be the simple contrast with the palette his eyes have grown accustomed to in LA: concrete and metal and gray ocean, but this morning the world seems uncommonly pristine and perfectly made.

While Kurt's washing cranberries, Finn comes downstairs and into the kitchen, still in his pajamas. He grabs a glass, fills it with orange juice, and gives Kurt a sunny smile that lets Kurt know, everything is going to be fine.

*   *   *

That night, after dinner's cleared and the guests are gone, Kurt's yawning into his shoulder as the sink drains with a gurgle. The roasting pan and casserole dishes are air drying in the rack by the sink, and he's done. Kurt peels off his rubber gloves and washes the latex smell from his hands, which have gone pruney anyway. He's reaching under the sink for the hand cream Carole keeps there, when Finn comes into the kitchen. "You need a hand?" Finn asks.

"As always, your timing is perfect," Kurt says. "I just finished."

"Cool," Finn says. "Go put on something warm, I want to take you somewhere."

Kurt does. And they go out to the garage to Finn's old truck. It starts right away; the motor runs smooth and cat content. Finn shakes his head in wonder. "Burt's a genius."

"Where are we going?" Kurt asks, shivering even in his wool coat. He twists the climate control dial on the dash from blue to red—which results in a blast of still cold, toasted-dust scented air—and then tucks his gloved hands between his thighs as they back out.

"It's a surprise," Finn says.

"Ooo," Kurt says.

He doesn't expect their destination to be a frozen fallow field, so that is definitely a surprise. Finn's truck bumps over the ruts and makes Kurt's teeth rattle. The leftovers of last years' crop crunch under the tires. But Kurt hasn't forgotten this place: it's where they watched the meteor shower.

"I didn't realize you were so sentimental," Kurt says.

Finn laughs and brakes the truck. Turns to grab a pair of heavy stadium blankets from behind the seats. "Come on," he says, and pops his door open. The frigid night air bleeds into the cab quickly. Kurt tugs his hat lower to cover his ears, and gets out.

They climb into the bed of the truck together. The plastic bed-liner insulates them from direct contact with the metal floor of it. But it's still not warm, nothing like the muggy August night they sat together and watched the Perseid shower streak across the sky.

The cold, dry night brings clarity to the sky. The stars burn bright and vast, dazzlingly clear here in a way they aren't on the coast.

Kurt pulls the blanket close around his shoulders and turns his body toward Finn's for extra warmth. "I'm freezing my ass off," he complains.

"Yeah, this is a lot colder than I expected," Finn says. "I think California's made us soft."

"Is there a reason we're here?" Kurt asks. He doesn't think there're any astronomical events tonight. The moon is a cold, patient sliver of a waning crescent.

"I thought it would be romantic," Finn says.

"Oh," Kurt says.

"I was thinking about kissing you," Finn says, "and I wanted it to be right."

"Oh," Kurt says again.

"So here we are," Finn says. His breath puffs out in a starlit fog. "But I didn't think this through very well."

"No," Kurt says. "But it's nice. I appreciate the sentiment." He works one hand free from where he's got it tucked under his arm and carefully ventures to find one of Finn's hands. Tries to avoid inadvertent and inappropriate groping. Finn reaches back and they interlace their gloved fingers as best they can atop Finn's thigh.

"Hmm," Finn says. It's a skeptical, thoughtful sort of hum. "I guess I should ask you though. Do you want me to kiss you? Last night you said you wanted me to be sure, and I am, but... are you?"

It's harder to answer than Kurt ever thought it would be. He's so used to the way things are between them, so accustomed to thinking this would be impossible. He's become so good at treasuring the close moments between them without expecting more, he's scared of what will change. What the cost will be. But maybe just a kiss, from Finn... Kurt closes his eyes. He wants that badly. "It depends," he says.

"On what?"

He takes a deep, cold breath. "I want that, but could it be just a kiss? Because I don't know if I can— I'm not ready for more than that." He swallows hard. "What we have now is important to me. I can't lose—" Kurt breaks off before he tears up.

"Hey, no," Finn says, shifts beside him so they can meet each other's eyes. Finn's gaze is wide, glimmering in the night. "We're not losing anything, okay?"

Kurt hiccups a chuckle. "I don't even know what this means for you. I mean, are you bisexual or...?"

Finn's quiet for several heartbeats, but his fingers squeeze Kurt's tightly. "It took me a while to figure that out," he starts quietly, glances down. "I think, um. When I got to Alaska—it was so different from here. People didn't want to suffer with their secrets, you know? Or miss opportunities to feel good or connected. We were all there for the same reason, we were all staring into the abyss."

"So... you're saying people there were having a lot of omnivorous recreational sex?"

Finn laughs. "Not exactly. It was just a lot less judgmental. No one cared who you were with. Being with someone was better than being alone."

"Were you with anyone? While you were up there?"

"Not... not really. It took me a long time to loosen up. It wasn't until the second year that I started to, I don't know, be more open to myself?"

"After the Summer of Brandy?"

"That, and after some of the things I'd felt toward you that summer, things that had been hard to understand. Once I got back to Alaska, I let myself feel whatever I was feeling without trying to negate it. Does that make sense?"

"I don't know." Kurt tucks his chin behind his scarf.

"Yeah, you're lucky, I guess. You always knew who you were."

"I never felt lucky," Kurt says.

"No, sorry, of course not. That was a stupid thing to say. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I think I get what you're saying. That clarity helps, even if other factors don't."

"By the time I got to the Shatterdome, I'd stopped worrying about it so much. Figured I was attracted to people who were—" Finn wrinkles his nose, like he's unsure of the right word. "—beautiful to me, people who I had a connection with. Their gender didn't matter that much.

"It was easy with Quinn. Her first Drift partner was a woman, and they'd been close, you know? Intimate. She understood.

"And then you arrived, all grown up and gorgeous, and the way that hit me—it made things pretty clear. I guess, I got that clarity. So to answer your question, the answer is, yes. I'm bi."

"Okay," Kurt says. Surreal, in particular, to hear Finn call him gorgeous.

"Okay," Finn echoes. Nods. Rubs his thumb over the back of Kurt's hand. They watch the stars in silence. After a while, Finn speaks again. "I don't know what this is between you and me, but I don't want to keep ignoring it, now that I know how you feel. If you decide to put yourself forward as a candidate to pilot Romeo with me, things will change for us, Kurt."

Kurt looks at Finn and, for a moment, considers what happens if he doesn't. Finn pilots with someone else, and he and Finn— When he imagines it, he doesn't want to be left behind again. He wants to be there, with Finn, beside him. No matter what end they meet, it's right that it be together. And if he's ready to risk all of that, then surely he can do this now, when it's just he and Finn, alone within themselves and still separate, innocent in a way, untouched by the Drift, back here in the town where they grew up. It feels right. "Then I think you should kiss me," he says.

"Just a kiss?" Finn asks, and he reaches for Kurt, pushes his scarf down and cups his jaw with the prickly wool of his gloved hand.

"Just a kiss," Kurt whispers back.

Kurt's eyelids flutter closed as Finn ducks his head close. Finn's breath is warm; the bump of his nose against Kurt's cold. His lips are cool; his mouth is hot. It's soft and slow, and sends a frisson of delightful bliss to warm Kurt's entire body. He doesn't think he'll ever quite catch his breath again.

*   *   *

The clock is ticking, Finn needs a partner, and putting it off once Kurt's made his decision is pointless. So the evening of the day they get back to the Shatterdome, they're scheduled to go into the Drift together. It's a compatibility test only—they're not even in the Jaeger simulator, but instead, are in a dimly lit room in the J-Tech labs. He and Finn are seated side-by-side in white vinyl upholstered chairs. Finn's chair has a joystick mounted on the right arm; Kurt's joystick is mounted on the left. Behind them is a bank of computers, which Daphne is attending to. A wide transparent display takes up the space in front of them. One of the Drift techs, Sugar, is smearing viscous yellow data relay gel on Kurt's temples, forehead, and at the base of his skull. It smells like ham and new plastic. Kurt keeps his gaze on the leopard print kerchief knotted at Sugar's throat.

He's practicing his breathing, the way Finn taught him on the plane flight back, deep slow breaths into his belly to stimulate his vagus nerve and calm his autonomic response. Controlled exhalations out through pursed lips. He knows how to breathe to center himself for a fight, but this is not the same. Preparation to be cracked open to his deepest foundations as a person and not actually panic. Preparation to surrender himself to it.

Finn's fingertips touch his knuckles, draw his attention. "You okay?" Finn's helmet is already on. He's relaxed and smiling.

"I will be," Kurt says. Slips his right hand into Finn's left.

"Just don't chase the RABIT," Sugar says. It's the advice everyone has given him today. Don't get sucked in by the Random Access Brain Impulse Triggers, powerful memories the subconscious shuffles up, that surface and draw a person into reliving them. Sugar caps the relay gel and picks up the Pons helmet. Once it's fit snug on Kurt's head, the computers behind them give a cheerful _bing_. Kurt resists reaching back to soothe the pinch at the back of his neck.

"Ready?" Daphne asks.

"As I'll ever be," Kurt says.

"You'll probably feel like throwing up at first, but don't worry, people almost never do," Sugar says

"The initial bridge is easier if you close your eyes," Finn says, so Kurt does that.

And somewhere behind them, Daphne counts down from three and flips a switch.

It feels like his soul is being sucked out through his brain stem.

Nausea is only part of it, but he's glad his eyes are closed. At first, it's a dizzying whirl down into an infinitely small vortex. Then, it all everts. Not like an explosion—it just turns inside out, like pulling the toe of a stocking up through the leg, except there's no exit. A perpetual trip through a virtual Klein Bottle.

Then comes the riffle of memories:

_Snow falling at night, fat flakes lit up like stars in the floodlights. His father—that is, Finn's father—teaching Finn how to make a snowball. Snow crusted on the palms of his blue mittens. School will be canceled tomorrow._

_Lying on his stomach under the neighbor's coffee table. Their fluffy black cat lies next to him, patient but intimidating. Kurt is very gentle; the cat's fur is very soft._

_A big yellow dog that lives down the street follows him everywhere when he's twelve. It means Finn never gets lost._

_His father's wide callused hand around his at his mother's funeral. His trousers are horribly itchy._

_Finn, crying, with two badly skinned knees. The school nurse cleaning gravel from them with tweezers and iodine. It's the worst pain he's ever felt._

_Barefoot in white on woven mats. The first time Kurt takes a real hit: a kick to his stomach. His opponent, a serious square-faced girl with straight brown hair, a year older than him. Bigger than him. Shocking. Disorienting. But he stays on his feet, doubled over and gasping. Doesn't throw up. Doesn't cry. He wants to learn._

_Finn passing his mother dinner plates as she wraps them in paper and stacks them in a box. The afternoon California sun flashes on the white porcelain. His mother is sniffing back tears. His father has been gone a month, and they're moving back to Ohio. Where there's family. Where it's safe. Finn's missed the snow._

_The smell of his mother's perfume. Fresh and vivid, not faded and dusty like the drawers in her dresser._

_Stealing a sip of his mother's coffee, because he's not supposed to have it. It's awful._

_Bundling up his urine soaked jacket into the trunk of his car. Furious and ashamed._

_Ejaculating in his pants the first time he makes out with a girl. Eighth grade. Her name is Shelly. "I didn't even touch you," she accuses him, insists. She's disdainful or scared or disgusted. Unforgiving. She doesn't want to look at him now. The humiliation is Finn's._

_Jerking off in the shower while timidly but determinedly touching himself between his buttocks, because Kurt's overheard: that's how people like him have sex. He wants to know what it feels like. Slow and careful. He's scared it'll hurt. It doesn't._

_Brandy guiding Finn's hand under her skirt. Between her legs she's hot and damp. He doesn't know what he's doing, but her smile is encouraging. He still comes before she does, but he makes sure she does come._

_Midnight. Summer. Kurt naked on his bed, semen on his belly, chest heaving, stretching a cramp from his leg. He didn't have to touch his penis this time. It feels like an accomplishment. He feels very lonely._

_Stepping off the plane in Alaska. Elated. Terrified. Proud, but alone._

_His mother's heartbeat against his cheek. Steady in a world that feels too loud and too fast for Kurt sometimes._

_Making love to Quinn the first time. He knows what to do. He feels so safe._

_Seeing Finn in the corridor at school. Blue shirt under red jacket. Superman's here._

_The taste of waffles and maple syrup and fresh peaches in Finn's mouth. Kurt ironing a shirt. His hands are so precise. He's scowling and severe. But when did he become this beautiful?_

On and on and on... more than Kurt can catalog or mark.

Kurt fights to keep breathing steadily. His eyes are hot and full of tears. He can't tell if they're open or closed. He's swamped with an amalgam of every emotion he's ever experienced, overlaid with Finn's. They have different flavors, his familiar, Finn's startling and new.

Finn carries more fear than Kurt would have guessed. More sadness, too. Self-doubt and moments of confusion. But a stalwart desire—a need—coded so deeply in his psyche, to become the man he can be most proud of. To be among the ones who charge into the chaos and destruction and not away from it. One who won't back down. One who leads and loves well, inspires and protects. It's Finn's idealized self Kurt perceives—along with all the ways Finn feels he's less than that. He doesn't realize he's more, and Kurt wonders what Finn sees of him that's new.

"You're doing very well, Kurt," Daphne says. "Keep doing what you're doing." Finn squeezes his hand.

And then it evens out, into a calm that's sleek as satin. Floating in the moment. One mind, one consciousness. A fathomless ocean below of all they are. The trick is to stay on the surface, ride the gentle waves. Keep it in the frontal lobe. So far so good.

"Neural bridge complete," Daphne says.

_« open your eyes »_

The prompt comes as intention and concept more than words. A thought between them, in Kurt's mind, originating within Finn's. The thought, a most gentle imperative, it has a complex timbre: encouragement, a deep well of affection, anticipation. Faith.

Kurt's tangled wet lashes come apart reluctantly. He opens his eyes, and—blessedly—he is looking out from his own eyes. He's not suffering double vision. The screen ahead of them displays a maze of white lines. There's a red ball at the entrance. Their goal is to move the ball toward the exit without bumping into the walls of the maze. As they go, the maze will rotate, making it a challenge. The rules are simple enough; he flexes his left hand around the joystick.

Turns to look at Finn. Finn's smiling back at him, and Kurt apprehends the swell of his love and the steadiness of his trust. Kurt feels the same way, in his own way.

"Let's start," Daphne says, and the red ball blinks.

*   *   *

They get a score of eighty-eight percent. Good. Excellent for a first attempt, even. If they both agree, they'll continue with a run in the simulator tomorrow. Kurt nods his assent. Finn too. In unison. Then Daphne shuts down the neural link.

It's hard to speak after the disconnection of the Pons system. His consciousness collapses back into his own physical limits, but he feels flayed open at the molecular level. Thinks, maybe, he wants to be alone, to try to seal the lingering sense of psychic rupture before he even tries to talk to Finn—or another human being—again.

He waits for Sugar to clean the gel off his skin, while his heart rabbits in his chest.

Looks at Finn when they both stand up.

"I need to—" he starts, resisting the urge to bolt out the door.

Doesn't need to finish. Finn's been in his head. "Yeah, sure." Gentle smile. Tinged with a melancholy trepidation. Worried this was too much after all, Drift compatibility be damned. Kurt understands, but doesn't have an answer for himself or Finn.

He showers and dresses for bed. Lies on his bunk in the dark. The darkness is pierced only by the red LED on the comm screen to show it's powered. His head is a jumble. Like pieces of Finn are stuck in him. Memories and sensations and feelings that are not his own. He's heard of ghost-drifting, of Rangers experiencing a lingering connection and emotional bleed after sharing the Drift. Is this that? They weren't bridged that long.

The dinner hour comes and goes and Kurt's skin crawls in the silence. It's not only the disconnection, he doesn't think. Passing the Drift compatibility has made this all more real, brought distant dreams into high, immediate definition and brought long held secrets into the light. It's all happening so fast. Can he keep up? All the people who are relying on him, people whose friendship and respect have come to mean so much to him. If he gets into Romeo Blue with Finn—will he ultimately be enough?

In the dark he feels untethered. It's not calming. Blood pumps deafeningly through his body and the loneliness and doubt creeps in, worse than anything. The feelings are, he realizes, not only his own.

He's off the bed before he's even agreed to the impulse. Grabs a sweater to pull on over his t-shirt and shoves his bare feet into his slippers.

He doesn't think about it or question it, he just crosses the corridor and knocks on Finn's door, knows he'll be there.

Finn opens the door looking weary. "Oh, thank god," he says and pulls Kurt inside by his wrist, pulls him closer, into his arms, and presses a kiss to his temple.

They don't speak, and Kurt understands, they still don't need to. Finn leads him to his bunk and they lie down together, clothed. Finn's barefoot, and Kurt toes his slippers off blindly, kicks them off the end of the bed, squirms out of his sweater, and then rolls into Finn's arms. Breathes against his chest, and holds tight. His skin still seethes, and his mind is churning full of pieces not his own, floating about like glitter in a recently shaken snow globe. Being close, it doesn't stop, but it feels better.

The comm screen in Finn's room plays low volume nonsense. An infomercial for an autonomous, intelligent robotic vacuum cleaner. The previous models' stupidity is shown in a montage of minor household catastrophes, terrified house pets, and crying toddlers.

Finn rubs his back, slides a warm open palm under Kurt's t-shirt along his naked spine. It's immediately compelling, the skin to skin contact. As if all the cells of his body are oriented to all the cells of Finn's and they want to reconnect. Finn kisses the top of his head and digs his fingers into the muscles over Kurt's shoulder blades. It draws Kurt more securely against him. Kurt shivers as he warms at the contact. Bliss. He's never been held like this.

More is possible, if he chooses it. He's seen some of Finn's desire, and Finn has seen his. But Finn also knows Kurt's reluctance. This closeness Finn has experienced before with others. It's entirely new for Kurt. And having it with Finn, it wasn't even a hope. Which makes it seem a fragile thing. Hard to pull from his mind a fantasy so long thought unobtainable and enact it into reality.

But he could. The possibility itself is a gift. He wants to enjoy that overabundance of choice without pressure to make one. This is enough for now.

Though sleep doesn't feel like it's among his possible choices, he closes his eyes. Lets Finn soothe them both. Eventually Finn turns off the comm screen and then the lights. Sleep does come. Kurt doesn't wake till dawn.

*   *   *

Finn's alarm goes off at six AM: his phone blaring "Don't Stop Believin'".

Kurt sits up with a start, wide awake all at once. With an audible yawn, Finn rolls to his back.

"God, I'm starving," Kurt declares. He turns back to look at Finn, who is stretching his arms and smiling up at Kurt. The bottom of his pajama top has ridden up, and Kurt can see the whorl of hair around his belly button. Sees then, too, with a rush of heat blanking out his brain, the thick column of Finn's erection behind the thin cotton of his sleep pants. Everything about Finn's posture grants permission.

"Good morning," Finn says, unabashed and making no move to cover himself. He's seen Kurt's reaction though, surely. His gaze on Kurt's face roves, curious and keen.

That he could reach out and touch— Talking may be necessary again. "Is that because of me?" Kurt blurts.

"Partially," Finn says easily, blinks lazily.

"Which part?" Kurt asks. Nonsense, but it's what comes out of his mouth.

Finn laughs. "I had it when I woke up about a half hour ago. Having you close kept it around."

And Kurt knows in a flash, because that knowledge is shuffled into his memory store now. "You usually... uh... take care of that sort of thing before you get up."

"I do." Finn's gaze on him glows warm and steady.

Kurt can't breathe. "Well," he says with more air than volume. Bold beyond his usual standards for reason. "Don't let me stop you."

With a quirk of his eyebrows and a tuck of his bottom lip between his teeth, Finn reaches down to palm himself. He hums softly and keeps his attention fixed on Kurt, and—oh god—that's hot.

"What do you want me to do?" Kurt asks. Still feels like everything coming out of his mouth is preempting his ability to consider his words and impulses. But after the Drift, shame and embarrassment are remote.

"Are you getting hard?" Finn asks.

"Yes," Kurt says.

"Let me see?"

"Oh god." Kurt rips apart the snaps of his fly and brings his cock out, pulsing fatter in his hand just as Finn shimmies his pajamas down his hips and bares himself to Kurt. "Oh god," Kurt says again.

"Take your shirt off?" Finn asks, pulling up the gorgeous length of his cock. The ruddy crown gleams at the tip. "You don't have to... uh... do anything. I just want to look at you."

Kurt hauls his t-shirt off, and makes a quarter turn on the bed to face Finn better. Bare torso, naked dick jutting out from his open pajama pants. He's not sure where to put his hands. So he plants them behind himself, leans back, arches his back and lifts his ribcage.

"You're so fucking pretty," Finn says, working his hand in an even, quick tempo. "You don't even know." The brazen, erotic admiration feels good. Being a spectacle for Finn's pleasure is even better. The safety of it, too. Just knowing and being known down to their soul foundations. No secrets, no shame.

"Well, I do have abs," Kurt says with a twist of his shoulders and a twitch of a grin.

Finn's chuckle is breathless. A flush blooms across his chest. His gaze is shadowed and hot. "You got a lot of mileage out of that, huh?"

"I sure did." Kurt's gaze travels from Finn's face to the flex of his biceps, to the muscles cording in his forearm, to his fist jerking his cock faster now—and rougher. The movement blurs.

"I'm glad," Finn says. It's more of a gasp. His eyes roll back, his thighs tense, and his hips lift off the bed. He comes with a stuttering, relieved groan. Kurt watches the semen spurt across his belly. Shining white against his tanned skin and the dark sweeping trail of hair. A shudder takes Kurt then, a surge of sharp pleasure, like an echo of Finn's orgasm. Kurt's breathing just as hard as Finn is when Finn lets go of his dick and opens his eyes.

Just barely, Kurt has the wherewithal to pass Finn the box of tissues sitting on the shelf beside his bunk. Knows without being told: Finn doesn't like to let semen stay on his skin for long.

One boundary, shockingly easily crossed. Kurt isn't sure he has in it him to cross another just yet. He fastens his fly while Finn wipes himself clean.

"You need a hand?" Finn offers.

"I'll, just— In the shower," Kurt says, makes a vague gesture.

"Okay," Finn says, without a trace of disappointment.

Kurt stands up. "I hate to perv on you and leave, but..." He waves at the clock. They have a date with the simulator at eight sharp, and Kurt is still very hungry.

"Yeah, go. I'll see you in the mess."

*   *   *

Kurt's halfway through his scrambled eggs when he hears a familiar, "Hey, Kurt." It's Blaine, seating himself across the table from him. "Welcome back."

"Hi," Kurt says. Nice to see Blaine's smiling face. Makes him feel, weirdly, home. He's been missing Quinn already. "How are you? How's Romeo running?"

"Like a thoroughbred," Blaine says. "I missed you last night, but I heard you and Finn got a good compatibility score."

"Um," Kurt glances down; heat creeps up his neck. He resists the urge to apologize. "Yeah, we did all right."

"That's great, Kurt," Blaine says. As always, brightly sincere. "I'm happy for you."

"So, we’re in the simulator today," Kurt says. Tight grin.

"Nervous?"

"Mmhm," Kurt says. "The whole lack of Academy training issue persists."

"You'll be fine," Blaine says. "Honestly, it's not that different from the X-Box sims we all played as kids. It uses most of the same code and models. I found the simulators here easier in many ways, because the interface is better. Did you know they made those games to be recruitment tools?"

"I didn't actually know that," Kurt says.

"Mmm." Blaine nods. Times like this, it's uncanny how well he reads Kurt's mood, easily filling in the silence that would stretch too long and uncomfortably. "They wanted a generation of kids who'd be ready for this war," he continues. "You've probably got more training than you realize." He carries on, telling Kurt the history of the Jaeger game sims and their relationship to the simulators used in the PPDC training programs. It's got Kurt feeling new confidence by the time he's finished his eggs and started on his hash browns.

Finn arrives shortly after that. With a pat of Kurt's shoulder, Finn sits down next to him with a bowl of apple cinnamon oatmeal, toast and peanut butter, and a green smoothie. His sweetly crooked (and knowing) smile makes Kurt's insides knot up in the same ticklish-hot way they used to when Kurt was a hopeless pining fifteen year old. Under the table, Finn squeezes his thigh. Kurt hides his blush by downing the last of his third cup of coffee.

*   *   *

Six of six kills in the simulator before they break until tomorrow morning. Four hours deep in the Drift with Finn. Four hours in a cradle driving a fake robot killing CG monsters. Kurt's legs feel like liquid, and his brain feels like it's been under structural renovations.

If not for the support of the Drivesuit, he'd already be lying on the floor. He grasps the bar along the wall of the Drivesuit room and grits his teeth while a Drivesuit tech—she introduced herself as Dottie—unsnaps the spinal clamp from the suit.

Blaine was right: the simulator, with its immersive environment and haptic feedback, proves easier, at least in terms of coordination. The Drift makes mutual decisions lightning quick. Each Kaiju they fought, though, Kurt knew. Some of them he'd even fought before with Finn, in the sim on Finn's old X-Box. They were all Kaiju that'd been fought and defeated. They worked their way up from Karloff to Hardship, Ceramander to Onibaba, Miscreant to Yamarashi. He knew their capability, had studied all the past battles. But every Kaiju that comes through the Breach is a new creature and presents a new challenge.

"You think they learn," Finn says. He's beside Kurt, and another tech—Trent—kneels behind him, unfastening his boots.

"It seems impossible," Kurt says. "I mean, we kill them, right? We've never found one with a phone in its pocket. They can't be phoning home to say, with their dying breath, 'Hey, Uncle Meathead, watch out for the plasma lance on the blue and white one—it only has a thirty second recharge—and make sure you go for the head! Oh, and pro-tip: grow extra horns before you come, and please tell mom I won't be home for dinner.'"

Finn snorts with laughter, but responds seriously. "But they are getting harder to kill. They're definitely getting better at beating us."

"I don't understand it," Kurt says. He wants to talk to Tina.

But first he needs to lie down before he falls down. Preferably with Finn, before he starts feeling too itchy and disjointed.

"Shower first," Finn says. "And you're not skipping lunch, or you'll feel like hell later."

"There better be room service," Kurt grumbles, but he does think he'll feel better washing the sweat and traces of relay gel off himself.

The showers are, thankfully, right off the Drivesuit room. And it’s easier to move without the weight of the suit itself. He and Finn share a stall that's made for two: it's wide, two adjustable shower heads, and two seats. Metal bars bolted to the white tile provide hand holds. The rubbery legs problem must be a common one. Gratefully, Kurt sits and slides the shower head lower. Washes his hair with both a grimace and the 3-in-1 shampoo-conditioner-bodywash provided. Generic chemical clean-scented cyan liquid. He'll survive.

"Now you know what they do with the Kaiju Blue," Finn says, scrubbing under his arms.

"I almost believe you."

Kurt wonders briefly at the complete absence of modesty. Maybe when you've seen and accepted the most intimate vulnerable human details of another person and are seen in return, taboos degrade into meaninglessness. All the mismatched fragments of shame a person carries—as if they're the only one—are shown to be a lie.

And Quinn was right. Experiencing the quality of another person's love for you, it becomes a stable invariant fact. Not an act of faith or trust any longer, but a new constant in a private shared universe. The body Finn's washing, for all of Kurt's complex longing and (current) appreciative visual survey, may as well be his own. It's weird, in part, because it should be weirder but it's _not_.

*   *   *

The closest there is to room service is Finn going down to the mess to get food for them both, while Kurt wobbles back to his quarters, still in a terry robe from his shower, clutching the bundle of his clothes against his chest. Finn promises to meet him there.

With Finn absent from his company, Kurt feels hollowed out. Lonely again. Prickling with potential, a live wire in need of grounding. It's not exactly sexual, he understands as he considers it. It's just _there_. Or not there. He drops his clothes in the chair by the wall and flops down onto his bed. The relief at being horizontal is astounding. Hopes it doesn't take his body too long to get used to the exertion of piloting the Jaeger. Supposes the patrols themselves are a way of cultivating the endurance of Rangers.

Pushes up to his elbows an instant before the knock on his door. Uncanny. "Come in," Kurt calls.

Finn's got a prodigious armload of plastic wrapped sandwiches, chips, bars both protein and candy, water bottles, yogurt, fruit cups, and—dangling from his fingers—a six pack of canned protein drinks.

"Jesus," Kurt says.

"I'm putting some of this in your mini-fridge," Finn says. "It's a good idea to have extra food in your room."

He throws a sandwich at Kurt's head. The throw is—of course—well aimed, but Kurt's reflexes and arms are shot. He can only duck. The sandwich hits the wall behind Kurt with a thud. "Thanks." It's wheat pita with shredded romaine, carrot, and chicken salad. It's the best tasting thing he's ever eaten.

Finn passes him a super sized Snicker's bar, a full-size bag of Fritos, a vanilla flavored protein drink boasting of its 25 grams, and a bottle of water. He sits on the bed, near its foot, perpendicular to Kurt, leaning against the wall, and unwraps a sandwich for himself.

"Does it always make you this hungry?" Kurt asks. He lies on his side, braced on a bent elbow. Folds his knees so he can tuck his feet against Finn's thigh, and Finn drops a hand to stroke Kurt's ankle.

Finn nods. "You burn so many calories," he says. "You need to eat a lot."

"I'm surprised no one's got out there with a Jaeger Cradle Workout YouTube channel."

"Sounds like a good business plan for after the war," Finn says. “Soccer moms’ll love it.”

Kurt laughs into the neck of his water bottle, clears his mouth with a sip. "It's the Drift, too though—that's a lot of neural energy."

Finn nods around a mouthful. Swallows. "I should have warned you last night. I'm sorry."

"It's not a perfect relay for information," Kurt says with a shrug.

"It'll be a lot more when we get in Romeo. It's like you can feel the weight of the machine in your brain."

"When do you think we will?"

"Depends," Finn says. "The Marshal will look over Daphne's reports and our simulation performance. You'll need to pass your—"

"—fitness test," Kurt says. "Yeah, wow." It doesn't bear thinking about in his current state.

They finish eating in an increasingly fatigue glazed silence, and then, blessedly, Finn takes off his shoes, belt, and watch, and lies down with Kurt. Spoons up behind him and slides his hand into the open top of Kurt's robe, rests his hand over Kurt's breastbone. The pleasure and comfort of that small touch is profound, but Kurt is exhausted to his bones. "Sleep a little if you can," Finn says. "I'll be right here."

*   *   *

A little sleep is all Kurt can manage. His brain won't settle into REM, keeps kicking him back with ill-fitting dreams made from memories not wholly his own. The one that finally rouses him completely is a sex dream about Quinn. Even after he opens his eyes, he can still taste her. And, god, he's achingly hard. It's bizarre to be channeling a memory of Finn's arousal more than his own.

"You okay?" Finn asks. "Your heart's going crazy." He pets Kurt's hair. It's floppy and soft, fresh from the Kaiju Blue 3-in-1. "You're sweating. Feels like you have a fever." The timbre of Finn's voice is warm, a seductive tease. He presses his groin against Kurt's ass, and Kurt feels the shift of Finn's cock growing hard. Finn's well aware of Kurt's state.

"Weird dream," Kurt says, squirming in Finn's arms as his phantom arousal turns into something more substantial and irrefutably his own. "But I'm awake now."

"I can tell," Finn says, and his lips brush the side of Kurt's neck. Electric longing. Kurt shivers and sighs a soft moan. "I know what you'd like," Finn says. His hand drifts down to the tie of Kurt's robe. "I know how to make you feel better. May I?"

"Yes," Kurt says. The ghost of the Drift is less now, but not gone completely. He senses Finn's marveling, his anticipation. He opens Kurt's robe and wraps his palm around Kurt's stiff cock. It's like closing a circuit, the way that the touch jolts so hard between them.

Each measured stroke of Finn's hand is a bright shock. Kurt's helpless, drawn into a torrential current of pleasure. It starts to crest almost immediately, faster and stronger than it's ever been by his own hand. For an instant, he's afraid of coming far too soon, but that swiftly turns to laughter, because he knows that's not a problem here. He comes, joyfully. His laughter hiccups into a ragged cry as his climax seizes his body. Finn's hand moves ceaselessly beneath the drape of terry cloth, milking every last blissful twinge from Kurt.

Dazed, he licks his lips and settles back into his skin. Finn lets go. Kurt wonders if it's normal for it to all be so quick and intense. Not that he's disappointed—it felt incredible. He feels, yeah, so much better. But—

"Everything's super new for you," Finn says quietly. "Your nervous system is massively hyped up right now. It'll adjust, and this kind of thing will... last longer."

That makes sense. "I want to kiss you," Kurt says, tipping back against Finn. Finn shifts to give him room to roll to his back. Kurt's robe falls open, and he doesn't care. Just pulls Finn's face down toward his own. Kisses him without any attempt at technique beyond the simple wanting of it.

When Finn pulls back, his smile is new—not one Kurt knows how to read exactly. "Are you okay?" he asks.

Finn exhales. "Yeah. This is—with you—it's..." Finn sighs shakily, blinks, and his gaze goes bright.

"Hey," Kurt says, pushing up to his elbows, concerned.

"I'm fine," Finn reassures. "I'm great, in fact. This is all just kind of overwhelming. In a good way. In the best way."

Kurt smiles, relieved, and he looks down Finn's body. "In that case," he says, reaching down to touch the tie of Finn's waistband with one fingertip. He bites his bottom lip and glances up. "May I?"

"Yes."


	12. Chapter 12

It's the nineteenth day of December 2022. Twenty-three days since the Drift compatibility test with Finn. Kurt's up before dawn, jogging down the concrete stairs from the wall of the Shatterdome to the shore. The morning's an even fifty degrees, the damp ocean air refreshes and chills, but Kurt warms quickly. By the time he's on the beach, he's unzipping his jacket and leaving it on the sandy bottom step. He pauses to stretch, stares out at the restless dark waters of the Pacific, and then takes off, following the curved band of smooth wet sand but keeping out of reach of the creeping waves. The tide's going out.

He makes his way south, toward the Wall of Life. Its wide base gives it the impression of being squat at this distance, but it's already taller than the Shatterdome's defensive wall. Kurt still thinks it's stupid and ugly, a waste of resources: human, financial, material.

The rhythmic surge of the waves keeps counterpoint to the beat of his feet and his clear deep breaths. He passed his fitness test, passed his physical, passed both the formal combat and simulator evals. He and Finn's Drift score's up to a reliable ninety-two percent. A new uniform hangs in his closet, unworn. The Marshal is giving him his Ranger wings this afternoon, a battlefield commission rather than a formal graduation. It's been a grueling few weeks, but he's made it. Not the way he'd ever planned, but in retrospect, the pieces all fit as if this had been the design from the start. Remembering Mercedes' voice on the phone last night makes him laugh: "Baby, I told you so."

His father and Carole are arriving at lunchtime; they're planning to stay for Christmas. This time tomorrow he'll be in a Jaeger. Pride comes easily, a balm to his heart for the challenges and setbacks along the way. Kurt keeps his gaze up and on the distant wall. He runs while the sun comes up, lighting the sky silver behind the mountains to the east.

*   *   *

At The Blue Rose that night, a private function sign hangs on the door, and Millie's broken out a case of Mumm Napa _blanc de blanc_. Her wait staff are keeping everyone's champagne flutes charged. Kurt's enjoying how the light catches the shining gold eagle and star emblem pinned over his heart. Beneath it, his chest is bruised and sore from all the congratulatory and traditional fist thumps over the badge. He can't stop grinning.

The blue, green, and white lights have been changed to plain white strings for Christmas, and green garlands dotted with shiny red glass baubles drape the windows and doorways, and travel the length of the bar top.

Sam's stepped up to DJ, and Kurt soon finds himself sandwiched between Dani and Blaine, dancing and singing to Queen's "Hammer to Fall" while trying not to spill his bubbly.

 _You don't waste no time at all_  
_Don't hear the bell but you answer the call_  
_It comes to you as to us all_  
_We're just waiting for the hammer to fall_

He's got more reasons than his own commission to celebrate. This morning Mako linked him to a gallery of photos of the first of the Mark-6 parts that'd arrived in Anchorage. He recognized the seals from the Manufactorum in Lima on the crates. "I wish you were here to see this," she wrote. "But I know today is a special for you. Congratulations, Ranger."

Kurt leaves the dance floor, breathless, and goes to the bar to ask Millie to fill his champagne glass with water.

"Kurt Hummel," says a young woman sitting at the bar. It takes Kurt an instant to recognize Marley Rose. Her face is something he's only accustomed to seeing online and she's wearing her hair loose around her shoulders. In interviews it's always pulled back.

"Miss Rose," he says and takes the hand she offers. "I'm a big fan."

She smiles bashfully. "Marley, please. It's nice to finally meet you. Quinn has told me a lot about you."

"Has she?"

"Yep. I was hoping to have a sit down with you—maybe not tonight or tomorrow, but the day after next?"

"By sit down, you mean an interview on camera?"

"Yes," she says. "For several years now, I've been collecting interviews and footage for a documentary on the importance of the Jaeger program. I've been wanting to put together a narrative about the people and the events that's less sensationalist and more down to earth. Let the people out there really understand what's happening, you know?"

"Oh," Kurt says. "That sounds amazing, but I really don't think—with everything that's going on. I'm sorry, cameras really are not my thing."

"Aww. Are you sure? You're the only one of Romeo's Rangers I'm missing."

"Well, I'm not quite that yet," Kurt says.

"You will be tomorrow. And you have a fascinating story. I thought we could talk about the Mark-6 too?"

"I appreciate your interest, thank you. But, um, maybe an interview with my Dad would be better? He loves talking to press."

"Already got it lined up," Marley says.

"I'll look forward to that then," he says and turns his head to look back toward the dance floor. Blaine sends him a smile and does a ridiculous little shimmy that makes Kurt laugh.

"Fair enough," she says. "Get back to your party. And good luck tomorrow. Let me know if you change your mind, okay?"

"I will," Kurt says.

Finn finds him shortly after that and reminds him they have a dawn appointment with Romeo Blue. Finn is cheerfully sober, which is good because someone has to drive, though Kurt is drunk more on happiness than the wine, but he feels like he's floating as he makes a round of the bar to say his good nights. His Dad and Carole are ready to go too, so they walk out to the street with him and Finn. Their hotel is within walking distance.

"Proud of you, kid," his Dad says, giving the badge on Kurt's chest a light tap with his forefinger. Kurt winces, but grins. Wonders what he's going to find when he gets his shirt off.

"We're proud of both of you," Carole says.

"We know," Kurt says. Shares a look with Finn. They haven't told their parents about the changes in their relationship. It's too new, too strange, too personal. Too hard to explain.

"You keep each other safe out there, okay?" his Dad says. He's said it at least three other times today.

"Always," Finn says, and he hugs Carole to his side.

"See you kids tomorrow night for dinner."

"We'll be there."

*   *   *

Tonight they're sleeping in Kurt's room. Finn's already sitting on the bed, wearing just his white y-fronts. Kurt's removing his uniform and hanging the jacket and shirt in his narrow closet. It's not going to get a lot of wear beyond today, but he's proud to have it. His flight jacket he won't get until tomorrow, after they've completed the patrol mission down to Tijuana. He unbuckles his belt, steps out of his pants. Pulls his t-shirt off, wincing as the skin over his pecs stretches.

"Yikes," Finn says. "That looks bad."

Kurt looks down at his chest, gingerly touches the injured patch of flesh. The bruise is red threaded with purple, and angry, about two inches in diameter, but the skin's not broken. It feels swollen, soft, and hot under the pads of his fingers.

"There's an icepack in your fridge," Finn reminds him. "Do you have any Tylenol?"

Kurt shakes his head as he hangs his pants up. "I don't want either, I'm not going to cheat. This is too much a right of passage. I want to feel it."

"Not cheating. I totally iced mine when I got my wings," Finn says. "That motherfucker hurt."

"Wuss," Kurt teases.

Finn makes a face and then smiles, considering Kurt. "So, you really want to feel it?" he asks.

Kurt nods. "I worked hard to earn this."

With a cock of his head, Finn scoots back on the bed, pats his lap, and says, "Come here."

Kurt quirks an eyebrow in interest and shucks off his briefs, walks over to Finn nude. "Color me intrigued," Kurt says.

"Up here." Finn coaxes Kurt up onto the bed, and hooks his hands behind the backs of his thighs to guide Kurt to straddle his lap. Takes a moment to look at Kurt as he likes to do, and Kurt lets him look. Keeps his shoulders straight and his chin up. Finn's hands slide up his back, splay around the sides of his ribs, encouraging him to arch back a little. Finn's breath gusts across his bare skin, and his nipples contract with a shivery tingle. Kurt sighs with pleasure. Lets his knees skid wider as he sinks down more heavily onto Finn's lap. His balls nestle against the base of Finn's growing erection, and Kurt holds on to Finn's shoulders to keep his balance.

"Comfy?" Finn asks.

"Mmhm."

"Stop me if it's too much," Finn says, and he bows his head to press his lips to the bruise.

"Oh..." Kurt moans softly. The kiss is tender, a ticklish faint suggestion of an ache upon the surface of his skin. "That's nice," he says. His cock gives a twitch of agreement.

The next kiss comes as a firmer caress of Finn's lips across the bruise. Deeper throb, a sharper edge. A hotter twist in Kurt's gut. "Keep going," he says, letting his head tip back and his eyelids slip closed. He flexes his grip on Finn's shoulders and Finn's hands skid around to Kurt's chest; he thumbs over Kurt's nipples and opens his mouth. Licks with a broad wet tongue, a hot glide over the swollen area. Makes it feel even hotter. Worse, for some values, but in a substantial, real way that's better.

Kurt grits his teeth and lets the harshness of the sensation sink into his bones. He's breathing faster, whining a little in his throat.

"All right?"

He nods, lets go with one hand to work it down between them. Fumbles with the elastic of Finn's briefs to bare the tip of his cock. Gets a grip around both of them together. Short strokes and generous rolls of his wrist, he works over and around their cockheads with fingers and palm. Rouses dazzling heat and a sweeping want for more. "It's good," Kurt pants.

Finn's teeth scrape his skin, and, "Ah!" Kurt cries. Almost too much—but only almost. He works his hand quickly and firmly. A little sloppily for the blind awkward angle of it. Finn's rutting up into his hold and—now—sucking at the bruise while pinching and tugging at Kurt's nipples. And that—the dragging agony of Finn's mouth, the twin sharp twinges of _good_ at Finn's fingertips, and the warmth blooming through his loins by his own hand, his cock rubbing against Finn's, catching just where they're both most sensitive—

Orgasms after they've been Drifting still come magnificently intense but far too fast for Kurt. This slower build, of many threads of sensation, running through him hot and cold, bliss and burn and bruise: Kurt can linger in—they both can.

What they're doing now resembles nothing Kurt's imagined or fantasized about in the past. It's not an enactment of something dredged up from the hidden parts of his psyche. Or from Finn's. It's definitely not the sex other people told him he'd be having. It's something created in the moment, spontaneously. Just for each other. He loves it.

"I love you," he murmurs. Desperately reaching and striving for just another few millimeters of movement with his hand to best show it.

"Me too," Finn says, and he surges up against Kurt, grabs his hair and tips his head back toward him, covers his mouth with his own. Sucks the breath from Kurt's lungs and then abruptly turns them both, until the room is swinging around Kurt. And then gravity reasserts itself. He's lying on top of Finn with his hand trapped between them. He wriggles his hand free, and Finn grabs his ass with both of his. Uses that grip to work Kurt's hips against him, jerking him bodily back and forth, grinding their cocks together with brutal friction. It's rough and good and irresistible.

The bruise over Kurt's heart still throbs, timed to the blood pounding through him, driving the pleasure, hot and molten, up his spine. Kurt holds Finn's face between his hands, kisses him and kisses him. Gasping and groaning through messy open kisses. Sucking at his lips and tongue. And then succumbing to the final irrevocable wind up, and coming so wonderfully, sobbing and squirming in Finn's arms.

"Oh my god," Kurt whispers as he comes down. His throat feels raw. He lifts up, looks at Finn. "Did you come too?" It feels like it, judging by the amount of wet warmth spreading between them, but he kind of lost track of things, and he wants to be sure.

"Yeah," Finn pants. "Holy fuck."

"You think?"

"Seriously religious experience," Finn mumbles. He grins wearily and lets go of Kurt's ass.

Kurt risks a glance at the clock as he rolls off Finn and reaches for the packet of moist towelettes he's taken to keeping next to the tissues. They have to be up and in their Drivesuits in seven hours. He's had the best day.

*   *   *

Kurt's up early the next morning. Didn't sleep more than five hours in the finish. He's waiting in LOCCENT for the mess to open downstairs. Finn's still in his quarters, in the shower. Kurt stands, perusing the main interactive map. The eight Shatterdomes are big blue circles. Within them are smaller blips, one for each Jaeger. Its status marked in green, yellow, orange, or red. Or blacked out for the Jaegers that now lie in Oblivion Bay. Too many black and red dots.

Romeo is yellow: able to deploy but not at optimal status. Sam and Blaine are on the roster as primary crew still. They could deploy in battle if necessary, but they're down the priority list, since they both lack battle experience. Orange marks the Jaegers down for repairs or maintenance. Red—those without crew or disabled but not yet scrapped. Apostle is green: standing by, ready to go. While Kurt was working on Romeo, the Jaeger was only ever green or orange. It's yellow today. Time to suit up and turn that light green again.

*   *   *

Climbing into the cradle in Romeo's Conn-Pod—on the left side, which used to be Finn's side—is already more momentous an act than getting in the flimsy cradle of the simulator. Daphne adjusts the mechanisms for his body. Kurt looks down at the pistons and gears, tries moving his legs. Heavy, yeah, and they're not even connected to the body of the Jaeger yet.

"Okay?" Finn asks him.

"You'll know soon enough," Kurt says.

Daphne shuts them in, and the relay gel fills their Drivesuits, warm and bizarrely not wet.

Then the Pod drops. And so does Kurt's stomach..

"Holy..." he says, and then comes the _snap-boom_ of the Conn-Pod locking into Romeo's shoulders.

"Whenever you're ready, Romeo," LOCCENT says. "Take your time."

"Give me one sec," Kurt says. He closes his eyes, counts to ten, slows his breathing. "Okay, I'm good," he says. Finn reaches up to initiate the neural bridge, and Kurt steels himself for the garbled psychic suck into the Drift. It's different this time.

"Oh," he says, when they level out into the calm. He opens his eyes. His body—he turns his head. _They_ turn _their_ head. He's looking out through the Jaeger's vision system and his own eyes, but there's no disorientation. The world is smaller, and they are larger. Kurt lifts a hand to look at it—masssive round palm with blunt metal fingers. It feels heavy, but he feels strong.

"Give us a wave," LOCCENT says.

They move through the gestures to verify the link between pilots and machine is successful.

"Neural Handshake complete," says Romeo's AI. The docking platform rolls out. Kurt feels the movement in his knees, the way Romeo sways and recovers.

"We're going to walk down to Tijuana and then get a lift back," Finn says. "Easy. Four, five hours tops."

"Easy, right," Kurt says. They step off the platform into the ocean. It's a short drop. The water is cool around his ankles. Muted but unmistakable. A motorboat scoots past them, probably here to watch the launch. It looks like a bath toy.

__« awesome right? »_ _

__« oh my god yes »_ _

*   *   *

**JANUARY 2023**

_"... So the scenario for our future that you're painting, Congressman, it all sounds very bleak. You must have some cause for hope?" Marley Rose asks._

The interview is from December, Kurt hasn't watched it until now.

_"Of course I do, or I wouldn't be able to sleep at night," Burt says. "I have hope that we can still turn this thing around, regain the ground we've lost. I have faith in the PPDC, from the Rangers and the Jumphawk jocks, the engineers and scientists, right down to the guys who mop the floors. They're brave people, the best of us, every single one of 'em. It takes balls, what they do, to stand on the shoreline and keep the monsters at bay."_

_Marley, amused, asks, "What specific steps do you believe we need to take to 'turn this thing around'? Can you tell us about your hope, your vision?"_

_"Well, we've got the Mark-3 restoration happening, the new Mark-6. We just got to keep going, and not just with the Jaeger program. We need to understand the threat better so we can figure out how to end it. Here's what I'm proposing..." his father digs into the policy weeds as enthusiastically as he would a car engine._

*   *   *

Their first battle comes in May. They're joined by Puma Real—the Mark-2 from Panama, painted a glittering purple—to intercept a Category II Kaiju called Tusker off the San Diego coast. It's got a boar-ish head, four thick tusks curve out from under its jaw, bristly spines down its back. But still alien. Long tail with a spade like bone at its tip. Six arms, the front pairs fused at the elbow. It rears up on its back legs and roars before slamming back down, shaking the earth, preparing to charge. Good thing Romeo is a heavy machine.

Romeo braces, one foot back, the metal sole flexes and clamps down into the seafloor, short cleats fire down to provide extra grip. They shift their weight to their back leg, ready for the counter punch.

"Watch out for the tail," Puma's crew says over their shared frequency.

Terrifying, exhilarating. Brutal, real. The Kaiju is huge, strong. Impossible seeming, until they land their first hit and Kurt feels the crushing impact like a pile driver's hit his arm. The crunch of Romeo's—his, Finn's, their joined consciousness fused into this titanic body—fist into the yielding flesh and bone of the Kaiju's jaw as they block. The crack-give of splintering bone. Reminds Kurt of hitting Karofsky, though he never hit Karofsky that hard. He wanted to. God, he wanted to break him.

"Romeo, you're looking wobbly," LOCCENT says.

"Kurt!" Finn says.

__« mind the rabit alice don't follow stay with me here now »_ _

The thought has a flavor of Quinn about it, and Kurt snaps back to the present with a gasp. Their sync has dropped to eighty-six, but they're still holding together with Romeo. Kurt breathes and lets the memory bleed through without pursuit. Still, the lingering leftovers of righteous anger lend more power to their next hit. A solid uppercut with their left fist, while the rotary saw blade heats up and spins into motion on the right.

__« good job »_ _

Puma Real comes in from behind, catches the sweep of the Kaiju's broad tail in her claws. Uses her advantage and momentum to flip the thing to its back. An impressive move. Social media's going to love it. Romeo lays down a barrage of explosive shells into its soft belly. The carnage is beyond gross, but it's dead.

The whole fight lasts fewer than ten minutes. They give Puma's crew a Jaeger-sized fistbump, and both Jaegers wade back to the coast.

The Kaiju recovery and clean up ship steams past them, massive in its own right. Tina will have new samples in her lab.

*   *   *

Once back in LA, they head to the Drivesuit room to have their suits removed. Don't speak at all, and Dottie and Trent work in silence. Knowledge and longing keeps drawing Kurt's gaze to meet Finn's. The battle memory—the feel of the Jaeger—is still in him. In them both.

It's said that ghost-drifting is strongest after the battle. Kurt holds a whisper of Finn in his mind. In the shower, Finn touches him, his face, cheek and jaw cupped in one wide hand. Kurt leans into it, Finn smiles and Kurt's all wobbly and strange inside. He covers Finn's hand with his own, says, "We should get clean and go back down. I saw champagne."

In the hangar, a cheer goes up when Marshal Tibideaux orders the clock reset. It's been a while since a team of older Jaegers took down a Kaiju so efficiently. Puma Real's team has seven years experience and five kills between them, so Kurt knows part of it was luck in having them as a partner. But part of it too is that he and Finn did well. The Drift was strong and Romeo performed perfectly.

It's hard not feel like it's a blip though. Beginner's luck. It's only been two months since the last serious setback—two Jaegers, Shaolin Rogue and Eden Assassin, and their crews fell to a Category III beast, Sawtail, last March off the coast of Taiwan. Shaolin's crew was green and late to the battle, couldn't save the outclassed Eden or defeat the Kaiju. Sawtail traveled unchallenged from Keelung City another 25 kilometers into Taipei before Nova Hyperion caught up with it. The Korean Ranger team of Pang So-Yi and An Yuna, finally took the injured Kaiju down with brutal efficiency. Even so, casualties were high.

"Kurt!" It's Blaine, coming up looking a little harried. Awkwardly, he pulls Kurt into a quick hug. And then, flushed, turns and offers Finn a hug too. Finn gives Kurt a look over Blaine's head that Kurt chooses not to interpret as anything. Because Kurt feels very lucky today. "Congratulations to you both," Blaine says at last. "That was amazing work out there." Sam comes up too, puts a hand on Blaine's elbow as he also praises their debut as a crew.

So it goes, accepting congratulations and praise from their comrades and colleagues. Neither of them leaves the other's side in the hangar. They don't mingle, but become the center of gravity for the room. Elliott brings them both a flute of champagne. Finn's hand keeps returning to Kurt over and over in some manner through the whole shindig. On his shoulder, on his forearm, squeezing his biceps, patting his back, pressing into his lower back, rubbing down his spine. It's not subtle. But Kurt feels the magnet pull between them too, stronger than ever.

Whenever Finn's hand leaves him, Kurt reaches back: a glance of his fingertips across the back of Finn's hand or his elbow. He presses his shoulder to Finn's.

By unspoken accord, they end up together in Kurt's quarters. Kurt, breathless and aching with hope. Finn, dark-eyed and growing serious, pulls Kurt against him as soon as the door slams closed behind them. Kurt yields himself into Finn's hold, opens his mouth for the kiss that comes deep and hot. Yields to both Finn and the desperation of the Drift, the profound call in the mind to reconnect and blend their bodies somehow. But it's also affirmation of their victory, of their still beating hearts. They didn't die today, and Kurt knows exactly what Finn's going to do with him tonight. He's been looking forward to Finn wanting this.

Finn's hand are on his buttons and zippers and snaps, and Kurt wriggles free of his clothes as Finn unfastens them. Soon, Kurt is naked before him, and he's chilled a little bit, goosebumps rising on his arms, but he's not nervous. And Finn's hand comes down, between his legs, the heel of his hand rubbing against Kurt's shaft, his fingertips sliding beneath Kurt's balls, curling up to cup him and press behind. His middle finger curiously ventures farther. Kurt shuffles back as Finn steps forward. Backs up until his legs hit his bunk, and then he's sitting down, leaning back, lying back, spreading his legs to invite, and Finn is following him like a dance partner.

"Take your clothes off," Kurt says between kisses. Not imperiously, but beseechingly.

Finn does, and Kurt watches him strip. And then Finn is back on the mattress with him, warm skin and hot breath and he's saying to Kurt, "Roll over."

With his heart held like a breath on the root of his tongue, Kurt does. Panting against his pillow, thrumming with anticipation. He gasps and closes his eyes as Finn lowers his hips down and his cock settles against Kurt's ass, nestling between his buttocks. Kurt spreads his legs until his thighs are pressed against Finn's knees, tips his ass back. "Please," he says.

"Yeah, but I—" Finn huffs a bemused chuckle. "I don't know exactly how—"

"I do," Kurt cuts him off. He cracks his eyes open and pushes up to one arm. Finn shifts back and Kurt reaches for the drawer in the table beside his bed. Gets the lube. He hasn't got condoms. He failed to anticipate. But they've both got clean bills of health, have had all their vaccinations.

As he reaches back with slick fingertips down between his own buttocks, his sense of himself catches up with him. It's not embarrassment, but an odd moment of reconnection to the boy he once was, who thought this was going to be everything to his heart and body when the time came. A baring of his soul to a person he hadn't yet met, but whom he loved and trusted. He flushes hot with self-conscious awareness of his old self's innocence of assumption and boldness of thought. There's nothing more to bare here. There're just new ways to embrace it.

And this immediate action, he and Finn both know, as he presses one fingertip in, is something he's only ever done before while alone, with the guarantee of time, with his bedroom door locked. It's one thing for Finn to share his memories in the Drift. It's a profound feeling of validation to know this is wanted. But still, the reality of doing it, while Finn looks on—it's heady.

For most of those times were accompanied by the daydream of Finn being there. Kurt would work into himself in as far as he could, until his wrist ached, and he would pretend it was Finn stretching him open. Would imagine Finn holding him and sweetly praising him, his body, how it felt. Would sometimes, if he were feeling especially bold, whimper Finn's name when he came.

Now he's doing it with actual Finn's hand resting lightly on his lower back. With real Finn watching him. Kurt can hear his breathing. It's fast. Can feel the resonance of his desire, more potent than words. His thumb rubs back and forth along the dip of Kurt's spine.

More lube, a second finger, pushing in and trying his best to relax. Sweat on his brow, and pinched closed eyes. He doesn't want to take too long, doesn't want the glorious urgency in their nerves to wane.

He pulls his hand free and says, "Put some lube on your dick too." Height of romance, but truly, he prefers this reality to the adolescent fantasy.

"Yeah," Finn says. And then he's moving back over Kurt. The wet head of his cock pushes messily between Kurt's buttocks, slips over his hole and down to glance his balls. Kurt winces, Finn shifts up and only succeeds in jabbing Kurt beneath his sacrum.

Kurt reaches back to help guide him into place, holds him steady and says, "Here," and "just... uh... push."

And Finn does, and Kurt nearly swallows his tongue. Thick and hard and stretch, he expected. But the solidity, the presence, the pressure, and Finn's body, broad and hot, hovering scant centimeters above his own, covering him. It's like his own body exists in more than three dimensions. The damp rush of Finn's breath on Kurt's shoulder was never part of a fantasy. The weight of his thighs presses against Kurt's, and one hand tightens around Kurt's upper arm. His cock, heavy and hot, alternates between short jerky pushes in and tugs back out. With slow incremental pushes, he works his dick into Kurt's ass. It feels good. "Oh..." Finn says.

"Yeah," Kurt agrees. Shudders as the fullness and friction flare up his spine, and the pleasure is wadding up, choking thick in his throat, a sharp tension at the root of his tongue. "Oh no," Kurt says then, and feels the familiar tight draw in his balls. He wanted it to last longer, but a blaze of heat swamps him, ripples up his body, like there's an expressway from his ass to his brain. He makes a pathetic sound.

"Am I hurting you?" Finn asks, stops moving altogether, but Kurt's tipped too far too fast for that to stop him.

"No-oh, oh... _ooh,_ " he gasps. (Actually) bites his pillow to stifle the louder cries that come with him.

He hears Finn's grunt of surprise, his more softly spoken, shocked, "Kurt—?" And then, Kurt's orgasm releases him and he sinks into the mattress, dumbstruck and dizzy. Can feel his heartbeat throbbing around the stretch of Finn's dick. The way his ass feebly spasms around him with aftershocks. The slick mess of his jizz under his belly.

Amazed, Finn asks, "Just from this?"

"Uh huh," Kurt mumbles. Tries to move. Can't.

"Wow," Finn says. "Should I, um, stop?"

"No," Kurt says.

After his orgasm, his body opens more easily, Finn thrusts in with confidence. He settles on his elbows, his chest pressed flush to Kurt's back, his hips rutting hard against Kurt's buttocks. Their skin slicks with sweat between them, and Kurt turns his head, grazes Finn's lips with his own. "Faster," he breathes. "You can go faster now."

Finn lasts a long time. It's often hard for him to come after a battle. Too much adrenaline or something. Not that Kurt's going to complain, but he does have to ask Finn to pause so he can apply more lube.

Finn asks, "Does it still feel okay?" when he lines himself up to press in again, and Kurt feels so slippery wet, sloppy with too much lube, and cracked so wide open; and Finn feels so huge and satisfying, sliding back in to fill that aching gap. Rocking in and out with such lazy and luxuriating strokes, Kurt's reminded that Finn's not new to fucking, just new to fucking him. At any rate, Kurt's well past such a simplistic categorization as 'okay'.

He doesn't think he's going to have another orgasm soon. His body's too jittery to gather up the sensation into anything cohesive. Finn's movements inside him are heavy and shivery and stutter along his nerves with uncomfortable bursts of too much, but they're mixed in with perfect flickers of just right, and hungrier ebbs of not enough, and Kurt doesn't want it to end.

But he can't say all of that, so he just says, "It feels incredible, you feel amazing, I'm so glad it's you," and then he adds a question of his own. "Do you like it?" In his fantasies, he's spoken more brazenly, but he can't manage the more explicit words right now.

But Finn's been in his head. Finn knows. And Finn is less verbally inhibited. He bends near, his breath a hot prickly whisper grazing Kurt's ear, like he's sharing a delicious coveted secret. "Fucking your ass feels fantastic." And that—apparently—is enough to haul up a sudden crest of white hot intensity. Helplessly, Kurt jerks and comes again with a horrendous groan, and that's enough to pull Finn with him. Finn unloads in his ass with an emphatic and ridiculously nonsensical string of syllables that don't quite manage to be swear words—or any other sort of word. It makes Kurt laugh even as he gasps and gulps for breath.

And then Finn starts laughing too, and Kurt feels a cramp in his hip and tries to move to stretch his leg, and he really can't, because Finn is a dead weight draped over every inch of him. So he squirms and complains with some urgency: "Cramp!"

"Oh, man," Finn says, "Sorry." He pulls out and shifts off Kurt, who rolls over, wincing and flexing his leg, pulling his knee up to his chest. Strange not to feel terribly self-conscious.

But that doesn't mean he's entirely comfortable. Finn just pulled his dick out of Kurt's ass, which is—Kurt can feel that—and it's definitely something new, so it shouldn't feel this ordinary. But it does, which is, as he lets himself really process it, pretty extraordinary.

*   *   *

"Guess what?" Tina says at dinner the next night. "Rachel Berry and Jesse St. James are coming here to shoot some scenes for their next movie, _A Heart Breached_ , the sequel to _A Heart Adrift_ "

"Are you serious?" Artie ask, dropping his fork with a clatter. "I love those movies!"

Kurt does too, but he wonders who names them.

"The Marshal is not happy about it," Tina says. "But she's too smart to toss away the chance for good publicity."

"Are you sure it's going to be good though?" Mike asks "The paps'll be camping out at the gate."

*   *   *

Rachel Berry and Jesse St James arrive on a Friday. It's a bizarre sight, seeing anyone strut across the hangar deck in knee high stiletto boots with a fur stole wrapped around her shoulders. Rachel Berry pulls it off. Everyone stops and stares.

"Is she wearing fur?" Sam asks Kurt, failing at keeping his voice low.

Rachel turns on him, slides her bumble-bee sunglasses down her nose. "I assure you, it's faux," she says. "I'm vegan."

"All right, then."

The film crew set up the cameras and lights in one of the vacant bays. Put up green screens where they're going to need to paint their CG Jaeger. Seems peculiar, given the presence of actual Jaegers, but it's for the best, it keeps the cast and crew from getting under foot.

*   *   *

"So who are you teaming us up with?" Jesse St. James asks the Marshal, in a manner so unabashed, it's clear he's accustomed to getting what he wants. Beside him Rachel sends a smile and a wink toward Finn.

"Excuse me?" Marshal Tibideaux asks.

"We thought it would be a shame to miss the opportunity to spend the day with one of your Ranger teams. For research and character development."

"Absolutely not us," Elliott and Dani say in unison.

"Kurt and I can do it," Finn says. He's looking back at Rachel. His cheeks are pink. Starstruck and infatuated.

"Oh god," Kurt groans.

*   *   *

"You like her," Kurt says to Finn. They're walking back from the Drivesuit room where Dottie and Trent snapped Jesse and Rachel into real Drivesuits. While they take them off, Kurt's off to get some air.

"Like who?" Finn asks, playing dumb.

Kurt rolls his eyes. "Whom. Miss Rachel Berry."

"Correcting my grammar. You must be pissed." He's only half teasing. They exit the elevator and cross the hangar deck, heading toward Romeo's open bay doors.

"Finn. I'm not."

"Of course I like her. She's very likeable."

"No, you _like_ like her."

Finn gives him a skeptical look. "Are we in elementary school?"

"No," Kurt says. Sighs. "I just..." he waves his hands in futility. Finn opens his mouth, but Kurt cuts him off. "Don't even think it. You know I'm not jealous. It's just..." He makes the same useless gesture.

Finn laughs. "Okay, then, so you're having a nonspecific problem with my having a harmless crush on an actress."

"I'm not proud of myself for this." The sky's a flat pale blue today. Kurt walks to the edge of the defensive wall and stands looking out at the gray water.

From behind him, Finn asks, "You're worrying that you're not enough for me?"

"No," Kurt says. He knows better. They both do. "It's not that."

"Or is it that... the love stories in this Shatterdome don't end like Jesse and Rachel's films do. The odds of us going home to a... a wedding and a house and one point three children in the suburbs—"

"I don't want to live in the suburbs, Finn."

"Kurt—"

"Or have point three of a child." Kurt crosses his arms over his chest and turns at the waist to shoot Finn a wry look. "That's just disturbing."

Finn laughs, and he comes up to the wall and sits, tugs Kurt's hand to get him to sit down next to him.

"But... I think, maybe, it's a little bit of that?" Kurt sits down beside Finn. "When I see you looking at Rachel like that? Like there's something in her that you're missing. I know it's not about me or us. It's— Do you remember what you said to me back when you were dating Brandy?"

"I probably said a lot of things back then," Finn says.

"You told me you didn't think you'd get to have the grand romance, because—this—what we're doing only really ends one way."

Finn's silent for a while, but he reaches for Kurt's hand and pulls it into his lap. Neither of them is going to blanket the truth with pretenses of optimism they'd both know to be false. Finn nods. "That kind of life? In the world we live in? It can only ever exist in a story, you know? It's a fantasy."

Kurt nods.

"For what it's worth, and I think you know this. What we're doing and what we have together is more than grand enough for me. I wouldn't trade any of it for a picket fence."

"Me neither," Kurt says, and despite himself, his visions blurs. He smiles weakly, swipes a hand across his eyes. "Oh no, onions."

*   *   *

In the finish, Kurt ends up spending more time with Rachel one-on-one than Finn does. He expects to be biting his tongue the whole time, but she turns out to be sincerely interested. She asks him questions about everything, and he answers all of them as best he can. In a softer moment, she expresses less ego and genuine envy and admiration.

"I wish I were brave enough to actually do what you do out here," she says. They're in the cafeteria well after lunch. Rachel's having weak tea with lemon and Kurt's drinking a coffee he doesn't need. "I suppose what we do, playing at war, may seem silly to you?"

Kurt's feeling comfortable enough to reply with some honesty, "Maybe a little."

Rachel smiles. She's more approachable like this, in her costume for filming, fresh faced with her hair pulled back into a pony tail. "I like to think what Jesse and I and our team do matters too though. Showing people out there more of the emotional truth of the war, in a way a news report can't. Giving people hope and inspiring them. It matters."

"Emotional truth?" Kurt asks. Given his earlier conversation with Finn, he's not sure he can agree. "You really believe that?"

"I do. Human stories are about human hearts," Rachel says. "And the human heart is the source of heroism. People don't rationalize their way to courage and sacrifice. No one in despair will rise to the challenges we face. People are inspired to act, by love and honor and the possibility of hope. A good story gives them that."

"So much for our escapist fantasies," Kurt says.

She chuckles softly. "I'm serious, Kurt! Consciously or not, most of us aspire to be like the heroes in legends, and so our films provide a contemporary legend. Our knights in armor are you, Rangers in Jaegers. The dragons to be slain are the Kaiju."

"That's a nice metaphor," Kurt says. He doesn't give voice to his thoughts beyond that, that Rachel's idea of emotional truth is more like propaganda. It's not like he doesn't enjoy her films, but he knows they don't map to reality. "PPDC recruitment always goes up after your films," he says.

"I know," she says proudly, then she pulls out her notebook and pen and leans forward. "Now, can you tell me more about your first time in the Drift? I want to nail this evening's performance."

*   *   *

Kurt sits at the bar at The Blue Rose sipping a Dirty Shirley and responding to a text from Quinn that includes a photo of her with her sister and Beth on a dock overlooking a lake full of mallard ducks. Millie cooed over the photo, so Kurt's recording a Vine of Millie smiling and filling glasses of beer from the tap. "It's not the same without you, Quinnie," Millie says.

He's also cooling off after an energetic performance of T. Rex's "Get it On (Bang a Gong)" with Elliott. There was a lot of air guitar. Millie takes a tray of drinks off to the table where the Shatterdome crew are sitting, and Kurt turns back to his phone. "It's really not the same," he types, "but you look happy and healthy, so missing you seems selfish."

" _You're dirty sweet and you're my girl,_ " Kurt sings under his breath while he waits for a reply.

"Hey, Kurt," says Blaine, popping into Kurt's peripheral vision.

"Hi, Blaine," Kurt says.

"Would you be up for a game of pool? Sam thought we could play doubles with you and Finn."

"Sounds fun," Kurt says.

"Off to play pool," Kurt sends to Quinn. "Catch up later?"

*   *   *

It's not quite six AM the next morning when they get the call. Breach Event. A Kaiju is coming toward the US west coast, angling north. Marianas has named it Ba'al. Category III. This is the fifth monster in that category, none has gone down easily.

"We're deploying to Seattle," Finn says in the Drivesuit room. Kurt smothers a yawn and Dottie shoves a smoothie into his other hand. Kurt sucks it down, chalky liquefied protein and a vitamin B booster for energy and a metallic aftertaste not hidden by the chocolate coconut flavor.

Elliott and Dani are suiting up too, Apostle's going to be holding the southern coast down to Cabo with Matador Fury.

The hiss and clamp of the greaves closing around his calves steadies him on his feet.

"Hydra Corinthian's heading up from Panama to join us; they're underway already, will be about twenty minutes behind us. Hong Kong is sending Crimson Typhoon and Sydney's deployed Striker Eureka to try to catch the Kaiju en route—or deal with it if it detours to Hawaii. But we're on point."

Kurt nods. "Any support coming from Anchorage?"

"Chrome Brutus' status is still red," Dottie says. The last battle the Canadian Jaeger fought left the Jaeger badly mangled and one of his crew in critical condition.

"Vladivostock's trying to get Cherno turned out today, but her reactor's been offline for maintenance, so don't expect her," says Trent.

Kurt grimaces. The Kaidonovskys won't be happy about that.

*   *   *

The worst part is the trip up, dangling uselessly in the sky while the Jumphawks beat the air into submission, dragging them along. They wake up while they wait. The connection to Romeo makes it feel like it's his legs hanging in space.

In the Drift, Finn is quiet. He's fallen into a semi-conscious doze. It's a comfortable, gentle murmur in Kurt's mind.

LOCCENT updates them on the Kaiju's position and the weather. A storm front is rolling in. Romeo sways, buffeted by gusts of wind. The rotors of the Jumphawks thrum louder than the thunder. The morning's sky is leaden and low as if the sun couldn't be bothered getting up today. The smoothie rests too heavily and queasily in Kurt's stomach. He runs another unnecessary diagnostic on the weapons systems.

_« worried? »_

_« always »_

LOCCENT sends them new imagery of Ba'al as it churns along in the deep ocean. The Poseidon aircraft tracking the beast operates out of Hawaii. Estimated mass is eight thousand tonnes and it's long with a thick neck and short head. It's making good time, so it's quick, too. Kurt squints at the blurry image, wishes for better resolution so they could plan ahead, avoid unpleasant surprises. Compositional data suggests the Kaiju has a dense surface, so it could be armored like Onibaba.

Kurt checks the ammunition belts on the Perses cannons, loads the depleted uranium armor piercing rounds.

Their latest projected trajectory for Ba'al spans the northwestern coast of the United States, roughly from the California Oregon border up to Vancouver. At current speed, Hydra Corinthian won't make it from Panama to Seattle before the Kaiju. They'll need to kill it or hold it off for at least fifteen minutes. Half a million people have woken up to sirens, are currently under evacuation to shelters. The Kaiju could still change course, aim for a different city, but so far, Seattle is looking like the most probable destination. The Anti-Kaiju wall is under construction there, they may have artillery support from land if they can't hold at ten miles. He stares at the shape of the monster and tries to imagine the worst thing possible so they'll be ready for anything.

_« we can do it »_

*   *   *

Torrential rainfall hammers Romeo Blue when they drop; visibility is low, so they're relying on instruments. Ba'al is close. They're wading up to their waist in the ocean, which makes Romeo's lack of maneuverability feel even more impaired. Kurt's getting a little claustrophobic. Finn calms him down. "We're the immovable object," he tells Kurt.

_« and if Ba'al is an irresistible force? »_

He gets a glimpse in Finn's memory of discussing the logistics of Thor's hammer meeting Captain American's Shield with Sam and Blaine over dinner one night. Kurt doesn't remember it, but it makes him smile with sympathetic humor.

"Do you see anything, Romeo?" LOCCENT asks. "He's nearly on top of you. Twenty seconds."

The sweep of their radar shows a bright shape, large and moving quickly. "Shit," Finn says.

"Left," Kurt says, they turn just in time to see the back of it crest before it dives. Going for their legs?

_« brace for impact »_

Romeo fires his cleats into the ocean floor. Spins up the blade on his left arm and unlocks the chest casing while the cannons prepare to fire. The whir of the machinery coming to life vibrates in Kurt's bones.

But no impact comes, the Kaiju glides past them. Close enough to feel its distortion of the water, but it doesn't engage. Which is unheard of.

_« what the hell?! »_

_« move »_

Retracting the cleats, turning, but Romeo can't run well. This Jaeger is built to stand. The guns work best at closer ranges. Radar shows Ba'al sweeping around them in a circle, evaluating them like a shark before it attacks. Romeo has to keep turning, which means they can't brace themselves for it. Which leaves Romeo vulnerable to being knocked down. In the back of Kurt's mind, he considers a rotating torso like Crimson Typhoon's could be a viable next upgrade.

But the Kaiju still isn't charging them, and this holding pattern can't last indefinitely. They're off balance, Ba'al has the advantage.

_« cunning bastard »_

_« they're learning »_

But there's no comfort in being right as they watch the Kaiju, staying just out of Romeo's optimal range and beneath the surface, circling, patiently. Like it knows their Jaeger. Like it recognizes them and their tactics from their fight with Tusker. From even Romeo's first fight with Hardship.

_« this mountain's gotta move »_

_« i don't like this »_

They move, as fast as Romeo can, wading through the restless ocean toward it. They fire a brief spatter at the Kaiju's position to bait it to come to them. It just moves further away from them and closer to the coast.

"Hydra is twelve minutes behind you, Romeo Blue," LOCCENT says. "What's the Kaiju doing?"

"Teasing us," Kurt says.

"Can you hold it there for twelve minutes?"

"We can."

"Calling in some air support for you."

They trudge closer as the Kaiju slowly retreats toward the coast, staying crouched just beneath the surface.

_« this is bullshit »_

"It's got to come up for air, right? We'll nail it then."

_« come on »_

In the deep water, their legs feel like columns of lead. But they try to go faster, burning with the exertion. They make some gains, and the water grows shallower, easier to forge through. As soon as they get a glimpse of Kaiju above the surface of the water, they fire.

The hits are solid, tight explosions bloom bright in the dark morning, and they get Ba'al's full attention. He rears up, glittering with water, and Kurt sees the overlapping armor down its chest, like fish scales. Its blunt face and six glowing turquoise eyes. It's got a broad forehead and heavy coiled ram-like horns. When Ba'al roars, its mouth opens into three sharp-toothed parts. Smart, but not so smart that he's not goaded by pain. They fire again, catching it in the chest.

_« here it comes »_

They brace as Ba'al comes at them, aiming low with its head. Approximately eight thousand tons of Kaiju collides with seven thousand tons of machine. And of course, force equals mass times acceleration. Romeo staggers and skids back. Pain in their legs, and there's a sick crunch of metal that Kurt feels over his right ribs. Ba'al is made for this.

They grapple with its head, get a good hold of one horn, yank the Kaiju's head back and swing in with the left, across the throat. The saw blade sparks across the Kaiju's armor.

_« this isn't working »_

Kurt's not sure if the thought is his or Finn's, but there's no dissent from the judgment.

The jets come then, and a barrage of missiles stream toward the Kaiju, flaring bright over its surface. It has little effect. The Kaiju tears itself free and retreats, quick as mercury. Romeo's follow up punch lands in air. Another round of fire from their cannons. The hits are landing, but the damage seems superficial. The Kaiju's armor is different, but it must have a weakness, they just need to find it. And then hope that Romeo is able to foil it.

Its mass and armor are its strengths—plus its apparent cunning and understanding of the Jaeger its fighting. But Romeo's had some upgrades since Tusker. Things this Kaiju might not know. They stride toward it, and Kurt cycles the ammunition in the belts again. They have a limited supply of high yield, incendiary phosphorous shells. They're designed to stick, splatter, and spread, not penetrate. To burn hot without quenching. Which is why, much like the tactical nukes of the past, these munitions are discouraged from use near cities. They're still a few miles out, and if nothing else, being set on fire might keep the Kaiju unfocused on its goal and angry at them.

_« do it before we're so close we can't »_

"We're going to light her up," Finn says.

They launch the incendiary rounds, and the impact flares bright as the sun. Ba'al burns, white hot, and its roar is furious.

_« careful »_

Ba'al charges again, blazing through the ocean toward them, they catch its head in their hands, one on each horn, try to force her back, but they don't have the advantage of size or weight. They wrestle, trying to gain some advantage while the ammo belts swap back. The heat on Romeo's armor registers as dull pain. But their alloys can withstand the heat while the Kaiju burns. This should have been a coup de grace, but it's barely an opening salvo. By meters the Kaiju pushes them back toward Seattle. They're more than not holding the ten mile line. They're nearly at the Miracle Mile. Hydra is still eight minutes away.

Ba'al jerks free, slamming its head up against their chest guard. It knocks Romeo back and the Kaiju is on them, biting at the chest guard and digging its claws into Romeo's shoulder and knee joints, climbing them. The move didn't work for Hardship, but this Kaiju is heavier—and madder.

One of them—or both of them screams as their left shoulder joint tears. They twist and shake Ba'al off—barely—only to be headbutted in the chest, hard enough to buckle the barrels of the cannons on their right side. It feels like his ribs have been crushed. Kurt gasps for air and they again try to land a solid hit against the Kaiju. But it pulls free again, seems to hesitate between them and the city, deciding whether to finish them off or go for the city. Its chest is a mangled, burning mess, but the thing is still breathing.

LOCCENT asks, "Can you withdraw, Romeo? Hydra will be there in six."

They can see the city. Four minutes is all it'll take for the Kaiju to make landfall. Two minutes after that people will be dying and then, Hydra Corinthian will have to fight the monster in the city. Casualties will be horrendous.

It's not even a conversation. All the moments between them have led to this, here and now. The decision has always, already been made. This Jaeger was made to stand or fall. They will stand.

"Negative," Finn says. "We're going to keep him busy here."

_« this is it »_

A different voice, the Marshal, "Romeo, we need you to fight another day. Withdraw now."

"No, ma'am, we're needed today," Finn answers. Romeo moves forward.

Kurt swaps the ammo again. Diverts all fire control to their left side and they open up with a salvo of high explosive squash head shells, aiming for the Kaiju's burning chest. If the Kaiju's armor has held, it'll do little, but if they've weakened it—

The explosions are satisfyingly massive, and the Kaiju lets out a bellow of rage and stumbles. They take a step back.

But it comes back at them, burning brighter and more vicious than ever. The impact is brutal. Romeo's knee buckles and they go down. Ba'al's claws plow into Romeo's torso, ripping free their remaining cannon from its seating. Kurt chokes and his vision dims at the echo of injury in their chest.

Their mind is a red haze of pain and determination.

_« stay with me »_

_« not going anywhere »_

Sensors inform them that water is seeping into the outer reactor chamber. If it reaches the core—

Ba'al tears away the chest-guard, and there's nothing between the Conn-Pod and it. The Kaiju's weight has them pinned, but as long as it's on them, it's not in the city. Ba'al is staring into the Jaeger's face like it knows they're in there. They can smell the cat piss stench of its breath.

"How long?" Kurt asks. They still have one functional arm, and each other.

The Marshal again. "Two minutes."

_« together »_

They use their one arm, find a place where the scaled armor is damaged, and dig in with the Jaeger's short fingers, get a grip at the edge of a plate and pull hard as they can.

The strangest thing is they're not afraid.

One minute. It's enough.

"Romeo, hold on, we're with you." A young woman's voice. One of Hydra's Rangers.

_« don't stop »_

The Kaiju screams, spits, and strikes; its jaws close around Romeo's head. The armor rips away from the Kaiju's body. Something explodes.

Everything goes black.

*   *   *

Agony flares in the darkness, but he can't open his eyes. He can't move. He can't even groan.

Outside his head comes a distant cacophony. Inside, his head is too quiet.

_« finn? »_

He slips under.


	13. Chapter 13

The darkness is absolute. Kurt's awareness of pain is muted and dislocated, as if it's floating just out of sync with his body. Still can't move. A hand around his own. His father's voice nearby. An even _beep beep beep_ ing. He tries to open his eyes, tries to speak. Only manages to sigh before he's sinking back into blackness.

*   *   *

This time, a woman's voice, familiar. Not his mother. Warm. Safe. Not Carole. Who?

He frowns, trying to remember, cracks his eyes open a sliver. The blurry bright shape next to him he recognizes and connects to the voice: Mercedes.

"I think he's waking," she says, hopeful.

But he can't quite manage to confirm her hope. He's too heavy.

"Get Mr. Hummel," someone else says.

Back down into the black.

*   *   *

Another voice, youthful and male, soothing. Speaking in a steady cadence.

"'... _reaching back over his left shoulder, Luke hurled his lightsaber with all his strength_...'"

He knows the voice immediately. Kurt swallows and doesn't try to open his eyes this time. Focuses on moving his tongue, which feels like an inert lump of sand in his mouth. After a few minutes, wherein the narration of Luke Skywalker's fight with some aliens continues, Kurt makes a staticky noise that's as close as he can get to the name, "Blaine?"

"... oh!" says Blaine. "Kurt?" And then his hand is on Kurt's wrist and Kurt turns his head though it feels like it weighs fifty pounds. His vision is bleary, but he smiles to see Blaine's face. His lips crack and sting at the stretch of his mouth.

"Hi," he says faintly.

"I'll be right back," Blaine says. "Your Dad—I need to get him. And the nurse. Just—don't go away."

Kurt rasps a chuckle; Blaine squeezes his wrist, let's go, and darts out of his line of sight. The leather soles of his shoes clap loudly on a hard floor. A heart monitor beeps steadily nearby. His head swims trying to piece together how he got here. That last thing he remembers: fighting in Seattle—did they win? The Kaiju must be dead if he's in a hospital. His body is stiff and he sees he has a leg in traction, but he can't really feel it. He frowns at the blurry end of his suspended foot, tries to wiggle his toes. He can. Where's Finn?

Then, he hears, "Baby." It's Mercedes, warm and sweet, relieved. He forces his head to roll toward the door. Sees her. Her eyes are watery and her smile wobbles. She comes to the bed and leans down to hug him as best she can, gently, like he's made of blown glass. "Thank heavens, you've woken up."

"Where am I?" he asks.

"You're in Santa Monica, at the UCLA Orthopaedic Hospital."

"Where's Finn? Is he here too?"

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry," she says. "He didn't make it."

"Will he be here later?"

"No, Kurt." She takes his hand in her warm palm. Looks at him gravely, profoundly sad. "I meant that he—he didn't survive."

Kurt's heart freezes. His mind fumbles. Then his eyes flood with hot tears, and his lungs spasm. Mercedes holds his hand and rubs his arm until the nurse comes in a short time later, and Kurt lets him do what he needs to do, robotically obeys his requests. Kurt remembers the quiet in his head and the pain and the resolution of the moment: live or die, they were supposed to do it together.

"I shouldn't be here," he whispers.

"Hush," Mercedes says. "You're safe."

*   *   *

With his family in his room, subdued with grief, all the more grateful to have him awake and recovering, the silent gaps in conversation stretch, like chasms yawning wider as the clock ticks, with nothing conceivable that could begin to fill them. His loss is a bottomless, empty well, and he can't summon any relief at being the one left alive. Guilt for not being able to give his family even a sliver of his own happiness is a nauseating weight in his heart.

But Kurt only cries when he's alone. Hears the echo of Finn, concerned, asking him, "Dude, are you crying?" and Kurt says out loud to himself, "No, I've just been chopping onions." It makes his heart cramp with a discordant urge to smile at the memory, but his body can't; in truth it only makes him cry harder.

*   *   *

His physical therapist is a nonsense-free young woman named Kitty. She arrives with a mission: to get him out of bed and onto crutches by the end of next week.

The doctors have already explained about his leg. His left femur was shattered. They printed him a new one, of nylon titanium. Waited for his soft tissue to heal before subjecting his body to new trauma. Surgery was long, installing the new bone. The doctor actually used the word install. Kurt feels like a cyborg. The leg's been suspended while the tendons and ligaments adhere. Too much muscle contraction is the thing to avoid. Now that he's awake, they take him out of traction. They replace it with a soft wrapping that runs the length of his leg and over his hip. He gets a glimpse of the leg, thin and scarred and paper skinned. Doesn't seem like anything that belongs to him. He still can't move the leg much, but it allows him some mobility in the bed.

The nurses get him propped up so he can look out the window. Bright sun, white deco buildings, palm trees. Feels like the California that existed last century. A memory only. The sky is hazy white, like a dream. Maybe, he wonders, he hasn't woken up yet.

Kitty focuses on getting him to exercise his arms and good leg, to start making up for being bed ridden these past months. Months. The basic routine and its difficulty makes him feel old, feeble. His Dad arrives as she's finishing up; he brings coffee and a hot breakfast from outside the hospital. It's a breakfast burrito filled with eggs, chicken breast, spinach, guacamole, and beans. Protein overload. He probably needs it. He doesn't want to enjoy it as much as he does.

His hands tremble badly as he eats, and his Dad reassures him, there's no brain damage. He's—nearly—good as new. Just needed a good long sleep to heal, and now he's a little weak. "You'll be back at your prime in no time," his Dad says. "A healthy guy like you."

Kurt gives a noncommittal shrug.

"I get that you don't want to talk much," his Dad says. "I can respect that."

A but is coming, Kurt can hear it. He closes his eyes and sets down his food. But it doesn't come; his father just sighs and reaches for his limp hand. "Hey, you've got this far," his Dad says finally. Leaves the rest for Kurt.

For his part, Kurt just says, "The burrito's really good."

*   *   *

Floral arrangements clutter his room. The bouquet of white lilies on his window ledge is from Quinn. Mercedes brings him the card to read. It's simple: "Please know, my heart is with yours. Love always, Quinn."

*   *   *

Carole doesn't come to see him as often as his father does, and he doesn't know what to say to her when she does. It makes sense; one of them survived, and it wasn't Finn. He doesn't want to be with himself either. Still she smiles kindly and hugs him. She talks to him about the garden back home, the apartment in DC. Things in the city that she'd like to share with him. A new quiche recipe. They don't talk about Finn much, but he takes up every pause between them.

*   *   *

Blaine visits him every day. Most days while she's there, Mercedes comes too, often with Sam. Kurt sees them holding hands and looking at each other with the adoration of new love. Kurt wonders how—and when—that happened. But aside from his father, Blaine's the only person who's there every day. And when his father has to return east, and Carole and Mercedes go with him, Blaine keeps coming. He doesn't ask Kurt for much of anything really. Brings him snacks and movies on his tablet. Reads to him still. Whatever Blaine's reading himself. Kurt has no preference. But it's nice, falling asleep to Blaine's voice every evening.

One day, Kurt asks him why.

"We're friends," Blaine says. The way he ducks his head and the shyness in his gaze suggests there's more to it. Kurt waits for him to tell him the rest. "I spent a lot of time in hospital when I was thirteen," Blaine says. "I made the mistake of taking a male friend—the only other out gay guy at my school—to our eighth grade dance."

"I'm sorry," Kurt says. He hates this world sometimes.

"I didn't have a lot of friends. My friend's parents, they blamed me as much as they blamed the guys who did it. No one visited me in hospital except my parents, and they were—" Blaine swallows. "It was hard."

"Yeah," Kurt says. The silence is comfortable enough. Kurt's unsure if Blaine wishes to say more. Is unsure how to encourage him if he does. Says, "I'm glad you're here," and he means it.

Blaine smiles, seems satisfied. "Then what do you say to _The Fellowship of the Ring_ tonight?"

"That sounds great," Kurt says, "But how is that actually escapism, Blaine? Swapping from saving the real world from a tide of evil to a fictional one?"

"Because it's not really escapism," Blaine says. "Stories like this help us find our own way through dark times. They show us how to stand firm within our own hope. I think they're important."

"Fair enough," Kurt says. He remembers Rachel telling him something not unlike it. "Honestly, we could all use a little more of that these days."

They watch. Kurt gets sucked in. Transported. When they pause after the battle in Balin's tomb, Kurt says, before he's even checked the words, "Finn has a thing for Legolas." It's the second time he's said Finn's name since he woke up, and it just slips out of his mouth like this, with a warm memory to share.

And Blaine is wonderfully not weird about it, just grins at Kurt while he uncaps a bottle of lemon Italian soda, passes it to Kurt. "Don't we all?"

Kurt scrunches up his nose. "I'm more of a Will Turner guy—or maybe Paris."

"Paris," Blaine says. "Definitely. Yes."

It's that easy. And also not. As Kurt's smile fades, so does the warmth. The stark reality of things wedges back in, pushing him away from the flicker of happiness. Blaine gives him a sympathetic smile. "Do you want to carry on tonight or—"

"We may as well finish," Kurt says. "I'm okay," he lies.

*   *   *

On July 4th, Blaine and Sam pick him up from the hospital and drive him down to the beach to watch fireworks. Kurt's making progress on crutches. Nurses tell him he can go home soon, but Kurt doesn't want to go back to Ohio.

Getting outside after dark is actually amazing. More than anything so far, it makes him feel like he is awake and alive. How he feels about that remains ambivalent at best. But Blaine's smile is a kind of beacon. And Sam's energy, Kurt has learned to be grateful for.

On the beach they meet Tina and Mike and Artie and Brittany. Sugar and Dottie and Trent and Daphne and Chase. Blaine helps him get settled on a blanket, brings him a bottle of apple and ginger cider and a bag of barbecue potato chips. They were Finn's favorite, not Kurt's. Kurt doesn't expect Blaine to know that, but he has a memory of enjoying them as he eats them. It's strange and sad.

Elliott and Dani are in Mammoth Apostle, driving the Jaeger out into the bay as part of the festivities. The celebratory mood is a thin veneer. Kurt can't disengage for long from the darker, colder feelings carried under his skin and in his heart. He watches Blaine instead of the fireworks themselves. Watches them burst in his eyes and light up his face. Smiles back when Blaine turns to him with a smile to share, and wishes that joy were something he could believe in.

*   *   *

The veneer cracks sooner than even Kurt would have predicted. The very next day a Kaiju crawls out of the Breach. Category III. Insurrector is its name, and it's headed toward Los Angeles. The alarm goes up and the hospital is evacuated. In the chaos, Kurt grabs his shoes, phone, flight jacket, and crutches and leaves through the front entrance. The beach is two miles away. He's certain he can make it.

Mammoth Apostle is out there, an unmistakable distant silhouette on the horizon. Almost the same as last night, but totally different. Kurt wonders who else is on the way. Who else is left?

The pain in his leg is a solid crushing ache. His healing muscles tremble and threaten to cramp. Not good. He drops down to the sand clumsily. The crutches fall akimbo either side of him. The dampness of the sand bleeds through his thin cotton pants, and he tugs his jacket close. The waves creep toward him, and he waits with Apostle, with Elliott and Dani. Traces of last night's celebration still litter the sand.

It's Nova Hyperion and Striker Eureka who drop to join Apostle. Then Insurrector arrives. The battle happens a few miles out. Sound and vision separated by distance, like a thunderstorm. The screams and bellows of the Kaiju, the thump of the Plasma lance. The roar-boom of Striker's missiles. The disturbances in the waves arrive last. Sloshing up to soak Kurt's feet and legs and settle him more deeply into the sand.

Kurt stares at the ocean and wonders how far he'd get if he swam out. As far as he needed to. He thinks about it.

It's a long battle. Nova Hyperion falls as Kurt watches. Striker lands the killing blow against the Kaiju. Twitter reports Nova's Conn-Pod is intact. Some good news.

Once it's over, a Coastguard cutter comes in to pick up Nova's pilots, the Jaegers head north toward the Shatterdome, and the Jumphawks arrive to secure Nova's wreck. Kurt imagines the reception at the Shatterdome. Still he sits there, immobile, chilling as the sun goes down, and he watches the lights of the Kaiju containment and recovery crews at work along the horizon. Doesn't feel like getting up, so he doesn't.

His phone rings. He ignores it. Rings again five minutes later. Then buzzes with a text. Curious, he looks. From Blaine. "Where are you? We're worried."

Maybe the only person Kurt's inclined to answer. "On the beach, near the promenade, where we were last night."

Less than a half hour later, Blaine finds him. "Kurt?" Blaine asks, worried. He jogs to where Kurt sits in the sand.

Kurt braces himself to be scolded. "Hi," he says.

"Are you... are you okay?" Blaine kneels beside him, breathing hard. He reaches for Kurt's wrist. "You're cold."

"I'm fine," Kurt says.

"You're not," Blaine says. "Can you stand up?"

"Not right now, no, I don't think so."

Blaine calls back over his shoulder, urgent, "Sam! Over here."

When Blaine turns his attention back to Kurt, Kurt says very quietly, "I don't want to go back to the hospital."

"Okay," Blaine says. "That's fine. Okay."

They get him to Sam's car, and Blaine sits with him in the backseat, wraps the both of them in a sandy picnic blanket from last night. They drive straight back to the Shatterdome. It's the first time Kurt's been back since he left in Romeo Blue. It's home, but it feels like a tomb.

Blaine takes him to his own quarters. Kurt's never been there. Blaine finds him some clean dry clothes, makes him a cup of black tea with honey and lemon. Kurt sits on his bed under a fleece blanket. It's soft and blue and smells like Blaine.

"What happened back there? Why were you—?" Blaine asks, tears in his voice. But before Kurt can assemble some kind of response, Blaine speaks again, "No, sorry—you don't have to answer that. I know what happened." Blaine's eyes are bright and wet. The line of his mouth is heartbroken. He sits next to Kurt and puts an arm around him.

Kurt covers his face and starts to cry.

*   *   *

Emma comes to see him the next day. He doesn't want to talk, but he asks her because he doesn't know. "Have I been dismissed from the PPDC?"

"Not yet," she says.

"Am I going to be?" he asks. Thinks about Quinn back home. And Raleigh Beckett, whom no one's heard of or from since his dismissal after the death of his brother and the destruction of Gipsy Danger.

"Isabelle wants you back in J-Tech, if you want to come back. So it's going to be up to you, Kurt. What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," he says. He's stuck. Neither wanting to live nor wanting to die. How does he explain that without ending up committed?

*   *   *

Marshal Tibideaux tells him he's welcome to stay in his old quarters until he decides whether he wants to go back to J-Tech or leave the PPDC. She gives him two weeks. He spends the first few days redecorating, as much as that's possible. Then, exhausted, lies on his bed watching television and subsisting on whatever he's stocked in his mini fridge.

Until, on the third day, there's a knock at his door after lunch. Kurt realizes he hasn't been out of his room in over twenty-four hours. He hasn't done his PT exercises in days either. Kitty's wrath if she knew would be terrible.

Elliott lets himself in. "I can't imagine what you're going through," Elliott says. He sits down in the room's armchair. "We live with the fear—worse every day—of losing, not just a battle or our Jaeger, but our Drift partner. Not many people understand that fear. Few of us ever have to face it. If we die in combat, it's usually together."

"That's a terrible pep talk," Kurt says. "If you've come to tell me to get out of bed and shower."

Elliott shakes his head. "I haven't. I wouldn't presume."

"Thank you," Kurt says.

"I just want to say, it was hard to lose Finn. Hard watching Romeo go down that day, hard being so far away, helpless, and believing we'd lost you both.

"But then, you made it out. The doctors stabilized you. Told us you would wake up, you'd be okay. And you did. Against the odds, and whether you like it or not, you survived."

"Please don't tell me I'm still alive for a reason."

"Not what I was going to say," Elliott says. "Against the odds—chaos, chance, luck, whatever you want to call it—you came back to us, and I... Kurt. I'm not going to tell you there's a reason you're still here, that you have some purpose to go fulfill, I don't believe that either. I only believe in doing our best with the time we have. I won't tell you how you should feel. No one can, and no one should.

"I can only tell you how I feel. I lost one of my brothers. I lost Finn. I really, really don't want to lose you too."

*   *   *

Kurt still doesn't leave his quarters for dinner. He doesn't do his PT exercises. But he turns off the television and has a shower, and he thinks.

At two AM, he follows an old urge, leaves behind the crutches in favor of the aluminum cane the Shatterdome medic issued him, and leaves his room.

Across the hall stands Finn's door. Empty quarters behind it, Kurt knows. But it's easy to believe he could cross those few feet and knock. Have the door open and Finn be right there, open armed, waiting for him. Kurt blinks back the burn of his tears and turns down the hall.

In the gym, he's soothed by the sounds of Blaine's punches against the heavy bag. Nice to know some things may stay the same. He hasn't seen much of Blaine since that night on the beach. He misses him.

"Hey," Kurt says.

Blaine stops, settles the swing of the bag and blinks at Kurt incredulously. "Hi."

"I wanted to apologize to you."

"What for?" Blaine asks.

His sweetness nearly brings back Kurt's tears. "For scaring you the other night. That wasn't fair. I wasn't thinking, and I hurt you, and if it weren't for you, I could have hurt a lot of people a lot worse. I'm sorry. You've been such a good friend to me, and you didn't deserve that."

"Oh... Kurt." Blaine comes to him then, wraps him in a tight hug that squeezes the breath from Kurt's lungs. "You're here now. It's okay."

"Thank you for coming to find me," Kurt says.


	14. Chapter 14

After they break apart, Blaine gives Kurt a critical look and a grimace. "When was the last time you had a decent meal?" He unstraps his gloves and unwraps his hands.

Between the hospital food and the stash in his room—the good food his Dad brought him is a memory, "It's been a while."

"Come on," Blaine says, and takes Kurt by the hand, grabs his zip up sweatshirt with the other. Takes him up to the mess, where he has a key to the kitchen.

"Aren't we full of surprises," Kurt says, to which Blaine presses a finger to his lips and winks.

"How do you like your eggs?" Blaine asks as he flips on the bank of lights over the central stainless steel work surface. He drags a stool over and indicates Kurt should sit.

"I'm easy," Kurt says.

"Over easy it is," Blaine says, and he goes to rummage in the wide commercial fridge, retrieves a rasher of bacon, a carton of eggs, milk. "Bacon, pancakes?" he asks.

It sounds amazing to his stomach. "Yes, please."

"I'll see if I can find any fruit." From the pantry he acquires a can of blueberries and a gallon tub of buttermilk pancake mix.

Kurt watches as Blaine whips up breakfast for them both. Kurt can't easily remember the last meal someone cooked for him.

"Do you want coffee too? Or are you going to try to get back to sleep?"

"Coffee would be great actually."

Slowly, piece by piece, bone by bone, Kurt settles into Blaine's company.

Across the table toward him, Blaine slides a plate piled with bacon, pancakes, and eggs expertly fried over easy. Follows it with a glass of orange juice and a mug of coffee. Sits opposite him in the narrow wash of light on the stainless steel counter. They eat in companionable silence for a time. Food in his stomach and caffeine in his bloodstream slowly banishes the sleepy skew of the hour. Kurt compliments Blaine on his cooking.

Earlier tonight, Kurt's thinking led him to a conclusion, something he wants to share—and a favor to ask. It's hard to know how to start, or what words to use. Habit has worn into him a reluctance to ask for things when he has nothing of his own to offer in return, and Blaine's already been so generous. How Blaine responds matters.

Kurt takes a breath and sets down his fork. "So I've had this idea," he starts

With raised eyebrows, Blaine looks up. Gives him a nod of interest while he chews. Doesn't talk with his mouth full, which is endearing. Blaine's manners are like a physical law, the way they persist in even the most casual or disheveled environments.

"Um—well, I missed the funeral and the memorial service. My parents have suggested having another back home, when I get back to Ohio." Kurt swipes a forkful of pancake across his plate, collecting syrup and egg yolk. "But—I don't want to put Carole through that again, or even go back to Ohio. I'm not ready to do that."

"I'm sure there's no rush," Blaine says.

"No," Kurt says. "I'm not looking for—" He sets down his knife to make scare quotes with one hand. "—closure."

"Right."

"I don't believe in it. After losing my Mom, closure was this word—this abstract emotional goal some of the people around my Dad thought I needed. Something I was supposed to have after my Mom's funeral, they'd tell my Dad. It started to feel like it was more for their sake, so I would stop being sad around them, stop talking about my Mom. As if I had closure, I'd magically be back to being a normal happy kid and the whole mess of losing her would be over. It doesn't work that way."

"You can't put that kind of thing in a box," Blaine says. "I'm sorry those people weren't more sensitive."

"They meant well," Kurt says. "My Dad was worried about me." And then he falls into silence, maudlin and spacing out with memory and the small hour: sitting at the top of the stairs after he was meant to be in bed, listening to well meaning friends advise his father on how to deal with a grieving child. Fortunately his father never pressured Kurt, never tried to force him to do the things other people said Kurt needed to do.

"So you don't want to do that for Finn," Blaine ventures.

"No. He's—it sounds crazy—but he's still part of me, still in here." Kurt taps his head. "Not just metaphorically but—you understand, you've been in the Drift."

Blaine's smile is sweet and sad. He nods.

"I think though, that I want to do something, not to put him to rest exactly, but to... I don't know. Spend some time with the parts of him that I still have with me. Not to close a door, just to—I don't know."

"It's a process," Blaine says.

"When we were kids, we used to talk about taking a trip to San Francisco, to go to the bridge where my mom died, to the site of the battle where his dad died, and to where Trespasser fell."

"Oblivion Bay."

"Yeah," Kurt says. "So that's what I want to do. Go up there to visit those places the way he and I talked about."

"That you're smiling right now, telling me about it? I think that means this is a good idea, Kurt."

Kurt feels his smile deepen then, he's so warmly gratified by Blaine's friendship and endorsement. Asking the question isn't as hard as it had seemed when he started: "Then... would you consider accompanying me? I don't want to go alone."

"I would be honored."

*   *   *

Two days later, Blaine's got a week of leave, they pack up Kurt's car, and Blaine drives. Strange how Kurt feels lighter this morning, given the motivation for the trip. But Kurt does, and he won't dig too deeply into the reasons, lest he cloud the fair weather of his mood.

As they leave the sprawl of Southern California behind them, Blaine asks Kurt to connect his phone to the stereo and dial it to his Energy and Inspiration playlist. It opens with Queen's "It's a Kind of Magic". Kurt chuckles and asks, "What is it with you Jaeger jockeys and Queen anyway?"

"Oh pish," Blaine scoffs. "Who's better suited to being the soundtrack for world saving?"

"Pish? That's seriously a word you use?" Kurt teases, shares a quick grin with Blaine and settles back in his seat while Freddie Mercury sings. Blaine's not wrong about the music.

 _This flame that burns inside of me_  
_I'm hearing secret harmonies_  
_It's a kind of magic_

 _The bell that rings inside your mind_  
_Is challenging the doors of time_  
_It's a kind of magic_

The coastal road, dashed by the shadows of partially built wall sections, is nearly empty. Little reason to travel north these days, San Francisco and the Bay Area have less than a fifth of their former population. Between the lingering toxicity of the Kaiju Blue and the nuclear fallout after Trespasser's demise, the only people who stay are the very loyal, the very poor, and the very fanatical. Tourism keeps the economy trundling along without total collapse: enough people want to come to gawk or grieve.

For lunch, they stop in Pismo Beach, formerly the Clam Capital of the World. Once a vibrant little coastal stop for tourists, now its colors are faded and peeling. Ecological collapse and danger have winnowed away the Pacific fishing industry at every level. But there's life here yet. At a little diner with a cheerful pink and blue neon sign, they get succulent (Guaranteed toxin free!) fresh crab cakes to go and take their lunch to the antique pier. Side by side, they sit on the rough bare boards with their food laid out on the white paper bag between them. Kurt's cane lies beside him.

Here the ocean's movement is lazier. Kelp floats in the water, dark golden green. They spy an otter, skittish and rare. He dives and disappears. "Wow," Kurt says, sitting up and staring out, hoping for another glimpse. Blaine wipes his fingers clean and gets out his phone, starts typing.

"What are you doing?" Kurt asks.

"The folks up in Monterey like to hear about marine life sightings along the coast."

"Oh, that's cool."

"Yeah," Blaine glances up from his typing with a smile, squinting in the glare of the sunlight on the water. "I've been a member of the Aquarium since I was pretty young. After the first attack—I was so distraught over all the marine life that died too. The whales and birds and seals dying in the Kaiju Blue— My parents got me a membership so I could feel like I was helping."

The recollection Blaine prompts brings a visceral queasiness. What happened to any living thing caught in the acidic flood from the Kaiju's body. The images of suffering were graphic enough that many news agencies limited their coverage. At the time, Kurt had been so overwhelmed by his own grief, the horror reached a level of saturation that left him numbed and detached. With the distance granted by time, he easily empathizes with Blaine's childhood distress. "We're not the only ones the Kaiju are killing," Kurt says.

"It doesn't get much press coverage anymore, but the scale of the conservation and restoration work along the coast is daunting. Building that wall isn't helping. I mean, just walling off thirty-percent of our planet—it's insanity."

"Yeah," Kurt says. The places where the Wall of Life's gone up have obliterated the beach and encroached inland far enough that a place like this? The entire town will be bulldozed. "It's not a solution. It's not even a good tactic as part of a larger strategy to win."

"That little guy out there," Blaine says with wave of his plastic fork toward the place they spotted the otter, "won't have any food if they destroy the shoreline and seabed here."

"I don't know how anyone thought building that damned thing was a good idea in the first place."

"Atlantic privilege," Blaine says. "They're making these decisions in New York and D.C. and London. If the Kaiju were tearing up Atlantic cities and beaches, they'd care more. As far as I can tell, The Wall is a supersized cynical political maneuver."

"Sad but true," Kurt says. "We need to take the fight to The Breach, like Pentecost's been advocating now for years."

Blaine nods. "You know, I donated money to your Dad's campaign."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm."

"Thank you," Kurt says.

Blaine lowers his eyelashes, looks back down at his phone, and his cheeks color. Kurt's noticed Blaine's beauty before. This time, it's enhanced by knowing this boy is a boy who thinks about and cares about the smallest creatures out there. The Pacific Ocean isn't simply a body to corral and abandon, it's where much of the life on this planet lives. Conceding that loss should be unacceptable.

Kurt's caught looking; he opens his mouth to apologize, but Blaine speaks first. He raises his phone to take a photograph and says, "Smile for me, please, Kurt?"

*   *   *

But by the time they're back on the road, Kurt's feeling less like smiling. The shadow of sadness, loss, and the helplessness when confronted with reminders of the nature and scale of the challenge steal his energy and his warm feelings. He slumps into his seat and closes his eyes for a time. Blaine doesn't put any music on again.

They turn inland from Pismo Beach, lose sight of the ocean, and only stop one more time: at a florist in Morgan Hill where Kurt buys a bouquet of purple and white sweet peas.

*   *   *

Kurt's booked them a twin room in an historic boutique B&B within walking distance of the ruined Golden Gate Bridge. The pastel blue painted Victorian house is nestled in the heart of the most lively parts of the old city. Once it would have commanded a high nightly rate, well outside Kurt's budget. But, because the view of the bridge is what it is, it's a room he can afford. Inside, what had been fresh and modern updates to the decor a decade ago are faded but well-maintained, and the small spa is closed, but the proprietor greets them warmly. Gives them a run down of local restaurants and activities. On a paper map, she draws a recommended path to walk through The Presidio to the K-Day memorial. Provides them with the hotel's breakfast menu and times, and offers to call them a cab or make dinner reservations. Kurt declines both, but does accept help with his bag to get it up the narrow staircase to the third floor.

In their room, paneled walls painted bright glossy orange and crisp bedding and soft furnishings in white and turquoise greet them. The muscles of Kurt's left thigh have begun to quiver. Probably a result of too long in the car with it bent at a static angle. He sits on one of the beds and gingerly stretches out his hamstrings while Blaine goes to get the rest of their things from the car. Kurt massages his leg as he stretches, notes that he's gaining mass back in his quads, and the pain is less. His endurance is improving, but he remains under orders not to overdo it.

"Nice change of scenery," Blaine says as he comes in and flips the bolt on the door. Kurt looks up from where he's bent over his leg, sees Blaine dropping a backpack into an armchair and brandishing a long slender object wrapped in pale green paper. "A gift for you," he says and tosses it. Kurt catches it. It's obviously a cane to replace the functional aluminum stick he's been using.

"Where did you get this?" he asks. Wonders how long Blaine's had it—and how he hid it from Kurt in the car. That he did hide it, to be a surprise for Kurt, is unexpectedly sweet.

"Amazon really does sell everything."

With a smile he wasn't sure he had the vigor to summon, Kurt tears away the wrapping paper, finds a slim, polished ebony walking stick with a silver tip. Its handle is carved into a sleek stylized head of a blackbird. His palm fits over it comfortably. "Blaine," he says, tracing the smoothly detailed form of the bird's face and feathers. The sculptor managed to catch a remarkable intelligence in the eyes. "This is lovely. Thank you."

"You really like it?"

"I do," Kurt says. For Blaine's sake and with genuine gratitude he continues, "I hope I won't have need of it for much longer, but it's pretty enough to carry regardless of need."

"It struck me as something that would suit you."

"I'll need to overhaul my wardrobe to go with it, you realize."

"A dreadful chore." Blaine grins. Something's still tentative in it, like he's not expecting Kurt to fully pursue the change in mood, but it's an invitation.

Kurt sits up and gives the cane a twirl. The weight feels good. His leg feels better too, and he's not here to mope. "Shall we take it for a spin down to the bridge?" It's where he wants to start, with the familiar old grief for his mother. The anger, over the years, has worn into a softer shape.

"Dinner on the way?" Blaine asks.

Kurt grabs his flight jacket, the cellophane wrapped bouquet of sweet peas, and flexes his hand over the handle of the cane. "It's on me."

*   *   *

They stop in the first open restaurant they find. It's some kind of Italian-Mexican fusion with a vegetarian bent. Kurt ends up with a polenta tamale as thick as his arm, full of spicy smoky gravy, potatoes, lacinato kale, and meatless sausage. Blaine has handmade huitlacoche tagliatelle with roasted heirloom tomatoes, zucchini blossoms, fresh white cheese, and corn. The day's been a wonderful respite from cafeteria food. Their waiter tells them proudly, that all the fresh produce on their plates is grown in the restaurant's rooftop greenhouse, and it's guaranteed radiation free.

The LED candle in the cobalt glass holder between them spasms in weak imitation of a flame. "This is nice," Blaine says. "Thank you for inviting me."

Kurt smiles, and the tension in his chest loosens. He wouldn't be doing this by himself, not only because of his leg, but because he doesn't fully trust himself not to fall into an emotional hole. Kurt raises his water glass. "To friendship," he says.

*   *   *

On the street, the bridge looks farther away than it did on the map. They stand at the open Lombard gate leading into the park. Blaine's contemplating the chunky stonework posts and the sign declaring, "Established 1776". Kurt's shifting his weight and wondering if he can make it. Decides he will.

The bridge itself is not open to pedestrians; it's got a tall chain link fence blocking access. No barbed wire at the top though. There's a sign on it: "No Trespassing". Beyond the fence, the wreck is lit from below with halogen floods, painting it in lurid high contrast.

"Talk about too little too late," Kurt says, nodding at the sign.

"Oh my god," Blaine says, laughing.

Without hesitation, discussion, or crises of conscience, he and Blaine climb the fence. Blaine goes over first, easily. Kurt follows more slowly and with care, once he's passed his new cane through the mesh to Blaine.

Up the broken road they go onto the broken bridge. They make their way out as far as they safely can and sit at the edge where the surface has fallen away. Below them, the water seethes with deep shimmers of cyan phosphorescence. The Kaiju Blue. Nothing lives in this water. Kurt tosses the bouquet of sweet peas down into the bay. The bones of his mother and his aunt are down there somewhere, crumbling into nothing. He doesn't dwell on the thought.

"Did you lose anyone?" Kurt asks Blaine.

"Not that day," Blaine says. "But later, yes."

And Kurt remembers that morning in the hangar. "Hundun," Kurt guesses, and Blaine nods. "You had family in Manila?"

"Extended family—an aunt and uncle and cousins. I'd only met them once when I was a baby. I barely remembered them, except as names on Christmas cards," Blaine says. "So not quite the same as you, but, yeah, my family was devastated."

"I remember..." Kurt says, has to pause to swallow around the thickness in his throat. "Watching the coverage. The monster coming ashore with the storm. My father didn't want me to, but I remember watching it. And the nuclear strike live. It was—" In many ways it was worse than the first attack. More people died, in more confusion, helplessness, and terror. It was the day the world woke up and realized this might be the new way of things. "I'm sorry, Blaine."

"Me too," Blaine says, and he reaches for Kurt's hand. Kurt opens his palm and curls his fingers gratefully around Blaine's.

They sit and they talk about the terrible sadness and the fear of those early days. Kurt cries for himself, for Blaine, for his mother and aunt and Blaine's family, and all the other people lost and the loved ones who could do nothing but watch. For all the children who grew up in this world. Blaine cries too, and pulls Kurt against him. They hold each other until it's growing cold and wisps of fog are gathering on the surface of the water.

They make their way back in silence through the gloomy trees of the park. Kurt feels like he's been freshly skinned. Blaine is gentle and quiet and sweet, and he lets Kurt be quiet too.

At a corner liquor store, Blaine buys a half pint of whiskey. Pours them both a generous nightcap back in the hotel room. They end the evening lying on Blaine's bed together, sipping whiskey from the hotel tumblers while watching _The Seven Samurai_ on the classic movie station. Kurt's never seen it before.

*   *   *

They drive out to the site of the tank battle the next day. There's no memorial here in the desert to the brave soldiers who held their ground and turned a monster back toward the sea. Not even the broken hulks of the tanks remain. Just the dark traces of Kaiju Blue that's soaked into the ground and leeched through the sand. It's dispersed enough that standing here is no danger, but the desert holds few signs of life.

Kurt stands amid the desolation hugging himself, with Blaine standing quietly behind him, off to the side. Memories of Finn's father are strange, possessing the quality of a reflection in a warped mirror, distorted by the translation. But it feels important to stand here and experience them however he may.

Chris Hudson loved his family. Which seems too small a thing to say for the frequency with which it's said of those who die too young. It's almost a cliché. It's the most obvious praise when speaking of the dead. Perhaps, better to consider how Chris Hudson loved the life he had with his family, and how he chose to leave it here to ensure their future. He chose this place to die, without an inkling of what manner of conflict was birthed that day in August. Not knowing this would be, eleven years on, an ongoing war that would take his only son. Kurt wipes his eyes with his shirt cuff. And despite their sacrifices, the only end in sight is the end of it all.

In a way, Kurt envies Chris Hudson, for dying without an awareness that the world was grinding and whimpering to its end. "So melodramatic," Kurt whispers to himself. Blaine gives him a mild, quizzical look, but makes no comment.

The wind is sluggish, shuffling over the ground, nudging at the dirt and detritus. He doesn't want to stay here, haunted by a ghost within a ghost.

On the way back to the car Blaine asks him, quietly, gently, "May I ask you a personal question?"

With a shrug, Kurt says, "Sure."

"Were you and Finn lovers?"

It's been a poorly kept secret, but not actually told to anyone. Kurt flushes abruptly hot.

"I'm not judging you, Kurt." Blaine says. They get in the car.

"That word feels too small." Kurt says as he tucks his cane in alongside his leg. "But yes, we were in love." Kurt squints at the glare of the horizon as Blaine reverses back toward the road.

They drive in silence for a while. The ground glides by outside, beige and lifeless looking, but a hawk wheels above them. Something must live out there for it to be hunting. Three headed hamsters or something.

Kurt takes a breath and says, to break the creeping silence. "It wasn't only because of the Drift, but that—it magnified everything. Made it something deeper than love alone. We became part of each other."

"Yeah," Blaine says. "I understand that."

"You and Sam?"

Blaine shakes his head. "Not like you and Finn, no."

*   *   *

When they get back to the city, it's dusk. They find a place to have dinner in what's left of Japantown. Blaine parks on the street. They have plump noodles in savory broth with fresh vegetables and tofu, tidy mounds of fragrant sticky rice, and skewers of sharp, salty grilled mushrooms. The seaweed in the seaweed salad is grown inland in saltwater tanks, so it's safe to eat. Kurt can taste every bright flavor.

Blaine doesn't press for conversation, and he displays no discomfort with the silence as they eat. Kurt knows he can talk if he wishes. That Blaine will talk if Kurt needs him to, too. But the quiet enjoyment of their meal, it's relaxing. Existing in parallel, a comfortable sync. It reminds him of those late nights bleeding into early mornings, stepping through katas in the combat room while Blaine hit the heavy bag in the gym.

By the time they've finished, Kurt's warmed on the inside and smiling as they divide the bill. They walk back to the car, still quiet but for the tap of Kurt's cane upon the concrete sidewalk.

*   *   *

Oblivion Bay sits in the crater formed by the three nuclear strikes it took to bring down Trespasser. Bones of the Kaiju remain, like great bleached stone spires. Its skull is elsewhere, on display in The Smithsonian back east.

And the wrecks of the Jaegers, a graveyard of titans, they each seem larger in shattered repose than they did in life. The space where Gipsy Danger—now under restoration in Anchorage—once lay is now occupied by the wreck of Puma Real. She fell while Kurt was in a coma. Her broken face contains a terrible stillness. All the broken hulks do.

Kurt and Blaine walk, hand-in-hand, through the maze of mechanical corpses. Kurt keeps it together until they get to Romeo Blue. Seeing the ruin of the Jaeger from the outside, it's worse than anything he'd imagined or prepared himself for. The damage is— Kurt chokes on his breath and his knees turn to jelly. His body holds the memory of every injury.

His hand is white knuckled on the top of his cane as he sinks to his knees in the sterile dirt. Blaine crouches beside him and strokes his back. Doesn't tell Kurt anything's okay or that it will be.

"Try to breathe," Blaine says softly. His eyes are wet too.

How he and Finn lasted as long as they did boggles credibility. The damage proves they never had a chance against Ba'al. The moment they suited up that morning, they were doomed.

That brings unexpected clarity. Kurt catches his breath and swallows his tears. Lifts his head and looks with calm clear eyes. Knowing something in your head is different from knowing it in your bones. Romeo's massive hand lies palm up and open, a silent lesson: fight until you can't, and then? Let go.

Mourning what can never be changed about the future is clinging to a futile dream. All that's come to pass has brought him nowhere but here. The next steps are of his own choosing. At the edge of it all, there's a freedom in understanding it: he can surrender to all the lost possibilities, all the futures that have passed into impossibility, the changes he cannot effect in the world no matter how he tries to achieve or repair or how much he wants them. Instead he can seek and embrace where he may still make a difference. They don't have time for anything else.

"Are you all right?" Blaine asks.

"Yeah," Kurt exhales and gets to his feet. "I really am."

*   *   *

On the twilit street a fog is thickening to drizzle. It holds an unpleasant acidic tang, so they keep close to the building fronts, well under the awnings. The EPA says it's no longer a hazard, whatever amounts of Kaiju Blue evaporates off the bay and into the air, but that doesn't mean Kurt wants to walk through it. The dull ache in Kurt's leg, that he's been able to ignore for most of the past few days, has grown throughout the afternoon, stretching tendrils of pain down to his knee and up to his hip. And now, within the past ten minutes of walking, his ankle has joined in, offering up intermittent throbs of protest, each one stronger than the last. After one particularly unpleasant step, Kurt pauses to breathe and to adjust the handle of the cane in his palm. Turns out an epiphany is not a panacea.

Blaine glances at him with sympathy and frowns. They're just three blocks from their hotel, on their way to dinner.

Kurt manages a rueful, pain-thinned smile. "Think I've finally overdone it," he says. Three days of walking—the doctor did warn him. Had hoped he'd be able to avoid painkillers though. What meds he's brought are back in his toiletry kit in his hotel bathroom. He winces and tries to redistribute his weight.

"Shall I find a cab, or—would you rather just go back?"

"Back, I think," Kurt says. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Blaine says, cups Kurt's elbow as he awkwardly shuffles to turn back. "We'll get a takeout from that Chinese place we passed?"

"Sure," Kurt says, and he straightens his spine, braces for movement.

Kurt sits, gratefully, in a white plastic chair by a small outdoor table while Blaine heads in to the glaring lights of the restaurant to order. He stares at the printed menu taped to the window. It's written in Chinese characters only, with sun faded photographs of each dish. They're numbered, at least, Kurt's asked Blaine to get him a twenty-two, which looks like some kind of glossy chicken and vegetable dish with sesame seeds. Seems safe enough. Without being able to read the text, he doesn't trust the provenance of the seafood.

Blaine returns to him, smiling, holding a paper sack of cardboard containers. The pungent scents wafting up from the bag—the specific combination of hot cardboard smell mingling with that of sesame oil and soy sauce piques the interest of Kurt's stomach. He's hungrier than he thought.

"I got soup and egg rolls, too," Blaine says, hefts the bag. "And some other things."

"Brilliant," Kurt replies, and levers himself up out of the chair. "Turns out I'm actually starving. How much do I owe you?" he asks, leaning on his cane while reaching for his wallet.

"My treat," Blaine says.

"My hero," Kurt says, teasing and surprising himself with the comfort of it, and with the strength of the warmth that follows.

Blaine laughs, and touches Kurt's arm again, lightly as they begin to walk. "We've finally discovered the true measure of heroism."

The laughter comes most easily. It's been a long time since it's been this easy.

And walking beside Blaine now, with his heart so unexpectedly light, despite the pain in his leg, despite the loss and grief and doubt that have filled these past months, Kurt thinks, yes, this is a kind of heroism. Bringing light where it's been so dark and heavy and cloistered in his heart. Kurt has immersed himself these past few days in tangible proof of destruction and reminders of death, seeking some deeper kind of catharsis in confronting it all. As if making a ritual of staring the horror in its face will sap its power over him. But it's not been his pain that's lit the path through. It's been Blaine's companionship: bright, vital, and unflinching. He was right not to come alone.

The facts remain no cause for hope, and yet, looking at Blaine, Kurt feels hope unfurl its white wings in his chest. He has to stop walking to catch his breath again, but for a different reason. The realization tightens in his throat.

"Are you all right?" Blaine asks for the second time that day. Two epiphanies in one day; he must wear them like distress. Their hotel is just meters away.

Kurt looks at Blaine and sees nothing but life, brimming in his bright eyes and flushing his cheeks. He's beautiful, all of him. A different ache overtakes Kurt's body. "I am," Kurt says. "I just—" He breaks off to take in more oxygen, to steady himself as he searches Blaine's face for what he suspects lies beneath his compassion and friendship. Seeking some intimation that they share this specific longing tonight.

"Kurt?" Blaine asks. His mouth is soft and his lashes flicker rapidly over his gaze as it darts across Kurt's face—searching too. It's answer enough.

Kurt raises his free hand to Blaine's shoulder, moves his cane forward to support his weight, and leans in. He doesn't close his eyes, but holds Blaine's gaze even as he loses focus. Whispers, "May I?"

"Yes," Blaine sighs. Folds his palm warmly to cradle Kurt's jaw, draws Kurt in as Kurt closes his eyes and crosses the last sliver of space between their mouths.

*   *   *

The takeout containers rest unopened in their plastic bag on the dresser in front of the blank television screen. The hunger in Kurt's heart has overwhelmed that of his stomach.

His cane leans against the armchair. His shoes, socks, and jeans are in a crumpled heap on the floor next to Blaine's shirt, cardigan, and slacks. Blaine's shoes are near the door, along with Kurt's jacket and sweater. They lie on the bed in their briefs, facing each other on their sides. Kurt's still in his undershirt, but Blaine is gloriously bare chested. Kurt sweeps one hand over Blaine's shoulder and down his arm, delighting in the strong shape of his arm beneath his palm.

The way Kurt already knows Blaine's body, from sparring with him, is a different kind of knowledge from what's required now. And he finds, here in the stillness between kisses, that he's unsure how to proceed. Not for lack of desire, but for ignorance. When he was with Finn, he knew; they'd been in each other's memories and fantasies. They'd bared their psyches in the Drift, making the intimacy outside it simply snap into place. But Kurt doesn't know what Blaine wants, doesn't know his experiences, doesn't know how to braid those things together with his own. It makes him feel like he's never done this before.

He bites his lip. Hesitates.

"What is it?" Blaine asks him, bumping his nose against Kurt's.

"I don't know what you want," Kurt confesses.

Blaine huffs a soundless laugh. "Sex," Blaine says. "Or am I misunderstanding what you meant by, 'please come to bed with me?'"

Kurt smiles, relieved. "No," he says. "I mean, I don't know what you like—or don't like—to do in bed. I don't know what you want to do with me now."

"Oh," Blaine says, and his amusement softens into care. He understands, without Kurt having to explain. "You could ask me," Blaine says. His gaze follows his finger as it traces a line across Kurt's temple to his jaw.

"Consider yourself asked."

"Well," Blaine says. "I'm open to a lot things," he says. "But I haven't done this with anyone before, so in terms of specifics, I'm not sure how specific I can be?"

"You're a virgin?"

Blaine scrunches his nose. "Not my favorite term. I've had plenty of sex with myself."

"Oh," Kurt says, flushing at Blaine's frankness and at the fleeting images that rouses. "Does that include, uh—?" He lets his hand do the rest of the asking, sliding down Blaine's spine to the curve of his buttocks.

"Your cock would not be the first phallic object I've had in my ass, if that's what you're wondering."

"Oh my god, Blaine," Kurt says, and he has to close his eyes and press his hot face and sudden grin into the pillow. He peeks at Blaine. "Is that— Do you want me to do that?" Kurt asks.

"That depends on what you want. Tell me what you like?"

"Oh," Kurt says, and his arousal surges under his skin. He takes a long blink, tries to formulate a thought clear enough to express with words. "I like... actually, I prefer to take it, um, anally," he says. "If you'd like to do that." Kurt lets his eyes stay closed. "But there are a lot of other things I like. Hands, mouths... just bodies and skin and being close is good. Most of all, I like it when it's too much." He opens his eyes. Hopes he's said enough.

"So you're saying," Blaine says slowly, conversationally, "that you'd like me to fuck you until you don't think you can take any more, and then you want me to give you more?"

Hearing his desires laid out like that, in Blaine's own words— "Something like that, yeah," he whispers. "If that's... um." Kurt pauses to moisten his lips, not to be seductive, just because he's so turned on his lips feels clumsy, but he's hyperaware of how it looks, sees the heat flash deep in Blaine's gaze. "The kind of thing you want."

"Oh, I want to try," Blaine says, with a grin. He rolls Kurt to his back and hovers over him. Blaine's steadiness, next to his own increasingly flustered state, makes Kurt feel like the over eager and blushing first timer. "May I go down on you?" Blaine asks. Just like that.

"Yes," Kurt says. "God, yes."

"Awesome," Blaine says with Sam-like enthusiasm. He shifts down the bed, dragging his open mouth down Kurt's sternum, and Kurt relocates his hands to Blaine's shoulders as Blaine kisses down his belly and eases his briefs down his thighs, and Blaine murmurs, "Oh, Kurt," just before his lips open—and close—around the end of Kurt's cock.

It's a white out shock of pleasure. It feels so new, so delicate. And it's good—right up until Blaine lifts Kurt's thighs and pushes them back to kiss behind his balls and every muscle in Kurt's left leg spasms painfully. It's bad enough that Kurt swears and pulls away from Blaine to stretch his leg and catch his breath. But not so bad that he doesn't laugh as he reassures Blaine that he's fine. Explains how he has a history of muscle cramps accompanying good sex anyway, so, really, Blaine should be flattered. "I just need to not put any stress on that leg tonight."

"Okay," Blaine says gamely. "We can be creative."

"I really liked what you were doing," Kurt says.

"Good," Blaine says. "How about if you lie on your right side and kind of bend your knees up, and we, uh, put some pillows under your left leg to support it? Do you think that'll work?"

"Worth a try," Kurt says, and he gingerly rolls to his side while Blaine passes him the pillows from the head of the bed. By the time Kurt's comfortably arranged, he's lost his erection, but Blaine remains dauntless. Embraces the setback with determination to do even better.

And he does, nestling up behind Kurt and rocking his cock between Kurt's thighs while he works Kurt's soft cock back to hardness with his palm. "You feel so good," Blaine says. Kurt whimpers and pulses even harder.

"You still want me to fuck you?"

"Please," Kurt says.

Blaine has both lube and condoms. Patiently, Kurt relaxes and lets Blaine open him up. Blaine takes his time, slipping his fingers in deep and holding inside Kurt until Kurt's squirming and asking for more friction. Then slow slick drags out and pushes back in, working up to a firmer, faster pace like fucking, except it's just Blaine's hand that's sending the fast flares of pleasure up Kurt's spine.

With his free arm, Blaine holds tight across Kurt's breast, keeping his back pressed flush to Blaine's chest. Keeping them so close together. "Don't forget to tell me when it's too much," Blaine says against Kurt's ear. His breath is a hot ticklish rustle.

"Oh..." Kurt says, and he nearly swoons. "Getting there," he mumbles, angling his ass back best he can, trying not to move his leg.

"Is this enough to make you come or do you want to touch your cock for me?"

"It's enough," Kurt gasps. Especially with Blaine talking like that. "I... Oh god, I'm... getting close. Blaine."

"Go ahead," Blaine says.

Kurt comes in a swift surge of heat. He's still trembling through it when Blaine replaces his fingers with his cock. Pushes in a little roughly, but Kurt's so open, it's nothing but raw edged bliss. Kurt cries out long and loud. Loud enough Blaine hushes him with an affectionate laugh and a kiss at the corner of his mouth. "We're not the only ones here," he says. And then, "Oh god, Kurt, you feel so— Is this okay? I hope this is what you meant—"

"Yes, yes, yes," Kurt babbles. "It's perfect."

It's not actually. Blaine has a hard time getting leverage—which results in more laughter and coming apart and trying to rearrange their bodies into a more productive fit. "I have no idea what I'm doing," Blaine says, cheerfully. Kurt tips forward as far as he can with the pillows supporting him, and Blaine straddles his right leg, presses back in, kneeling up perpendicular to Kurt's sideways sprawl. It's a different angle, makes Kurt feel every inch.

"I think this may be getting a little advanced for a beginner," Blaine says, leaning over him and kissing his shoulder.

"Mmm," Kurt says, twisting his shoulders back toward the bed. "You're doing fine though. Fast learner. You feel wonderful."

"You do too," Blaine says, tipping further forward and kissing Kurt's cheek and jaw, and Kurt turns his head, reaches an arm up for Blaine, pulls him down into a lopsided, open-mouthed kiss as Blaine keeps fucking him.

*   *   *

In the morning, Kurt opens his eyes to an empty bed. He rolls over and spies Blaine already up, wearing his plaid robe over his pajamas, seated in the chair by the window, looking at his tablet and wearing headphones, nodding in time to music. The scent of coffee overwhelms whatever lingers from last night's dinner and the sex they had. Kurt pushes himself up and lifts a hand to catch Blaine's attention.

Blaine snatches his headphones from his ears and sets his tablet aside. "Good morning," he says.

"Hi," Kurt says, pleased to see the strength of Blaine's smile.

"There's coffee," Blaine says and he gets up. "Milk and sugar, right?"

"You know how I take my coffee?"

"Of course I do."

Kurt stretches beneath the sheets and looks for something to save his modesty before he gets up.

Blaine brings him a fragrant mug, and leans in to kiss his cheek. It's ticklish and sweet and delightful.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Kurt asks Blaine.

"I'm wonderful," Blaine says.

"Good," Kurt says, and he looks at Blaine's beautiful face and he feels this new emotion between them, both fragile and strong. But he's not sure where it can tolerate stress. He's not sure what his heart can actually sustain for another person. Blaine's been so generous, and—epiphanies and good sex aside—he's not sure he has the resilience to properly honor everything that means.

"What is it?" Blaine says. "A shadow just kind of... passed over you."

"I just... Um." Kurt looks down at his lap.

"Kurt. I get it. It's all right. We're friends before we're anything else. I hope you know that. Whatever happens next is going to be okay."

"How can you say that? What if I just walked out of here and never looked back?"

"You wouldn't do something like that," Blaine says. "I know you and I trust you."

"All right," Kurt says. He's not sure anyone's ever held him in such optimistic regard.

"So what do you want to do now?" Blaine asks him.

"Aside from breakfast?" Kurt asks.

"Aside from breakfast, yes."

"I need to think on it. But after everything we've seen these past few days? I feel like parts of this war have become too silent and too invisible."

"I agree."

"I mean, look at the little otter back at Pismo Beach—and the restaurateurs here, how creative they are, trying so hard to... just to live, you know? To get by with some pride in their work and some joy in their days. Despite all the challenges, they're still hanging on. It's so... admirable. This is what we're fighting for."

Blaine smiles.

And Kurt knows well enough that he doesn't have to be in a Jaeger to fight, but he wonders if it may be time for him to step out of the background of support crew as well. Leadership was something Finn aspired to, but nothing Kurt ever sought for himself. But Finn's not here, and Kurt is.

In that spirit, Kurt knows what he needs to do. "I still need to think on it," he says, "But I think, maybe, it might be time to go east, to start telling people about what's happening here, what the cost of this war truly is and who it's affecting, and how we need a stronger commitment to fight and to find a way to end this war. We can't hide, and we can't pretend it's happening to someone else." Kurt recalls his father's speeches and Rachel's ideas about the emotional truth in her movies and Blaine's fondness for heroic fantasy. All are important pieces—necessary, yes, but not wholly sufficient on their own. "That may take more than Jaegers. People need to better understand this reality."


	15. Chapter 15

**JULY 2024**

Though it's longer, Kurt and Blaine take the coastal road back. They stop in Monterey, to see the aquarium, because Blaine's never been. It's not what it once was, many tanks stand empty. But the staff is still committed to their work and happy to have visitors. Blaine asks a lot of questions and takes photographs. Kurt asks a few of his own & takes mental notes. Outside, on the weathered wooden deck, Kurt stands, overlooking the rocks and waves with the wind in his face. Blaine's still inside. Kurt's still thinking.

For lunch they split a caprese pizza at a cafe on Cannery Row. Like so many Pacific coastal towns and cities, Monterey is lovely but struggling. Walking back to the car, Kurt tries to imagine the city as it would have been, before, in a world he's never really lived in.

Cottages, built in the first half of the previous century when Monterey was in its prime as a fishing town, are scattered within a short walk to the coast. Many are for sale. Many more are vacant and neglected, with overgrown gardens, peeling paint, and sightless windows. They pause on the path outside one, painted a once cheerful yellow with green trim, but the paint hangs off it like dead skin, revealing old timber. Its yard is framed by a rotting picket fence, and dog roses and blackberry choke the garden. Kurt indulges a brief daydream, just a flicker of possibility: the Kaiju are gone, and he comes somewhere like here, makes a new life.

He tries to imagine a sequence of events that would lead to that outcome within a realistic time frame. The Kaiju are coming every month now, and it's hard to see past that. But then Blaine makes a comment about the cottages—how cool it would be to see them restored.

Kurt smiles and says, "Yes."

They resume walking, and Kurt reaches for Blaine's hand.

Back at the car, Blaine pauses before he gets in, standing with the door open to let out the excess heat. "You know," he says. "If you're wanting to speak out, Marley's still working on that documentary."

"Hmm," Kurt says.

*   *   *

Back at the Shatterdome, Kurt takes some time alone. He walks on the beach while the sun sets and tries to reorient himself, to examine his options more carefully rather than make a rash decision while still in the grip of grief. The easiest choice is to return to J-Tech. Even if there's only one Jaeger to maintain here.

He goes back inside to his office and checks his email. Messages from Mako catch his attention first. He hasn't communicated with her since Seattle.

She expresses her sympathy for his loss and her relief at his recovery from his injuries. Sends him upbeat and newsy missives about the Mark-3 restoration project and the progress they're making with Gipsy Danger. The satisfaction of restoring the old Jaeger has her wishing they had time to rebuild more of the Mark-3's.

She mentions as well the Mark-6 and the slower progress they're making there. It was never going to be a quick project, but the annual budget they have throttles the speed of their work. Having the idle time has been a frustration, but in June they received a substantial anonymous donation that's let them get ahead of their schedule. It's enabled them to go back to the blueprints and rework some of the weaponry. J-Tech in Anchorage has been corresponding with the K-Science team in LA about Ba'al and the particular challenges he presented. The message closes with a query and an invitation: would Kurt like to come up to Anchorage?

That piques Kurt's interest, and he adds it to his options. He heads downstairs to the K-Science labs. The rooms of preserved Kaiju specimens have become crowded. It's like navigating a maze to find his way through to the work room, but he sees a light ahead, so someone must be working late.

It's Mike he finds. "Kurt, hey," Mike says, getting up to give Kurt a hug. "Nice to see you, man. What brings you at this hour?"

"You've been consulting with Anchorage about the Mark-6?"

"Yes," Mike says, and he hesitates, stricken. "It's to do with Ba'al's armor. I don't know if—"

"I'm fine," Kurt says. He makes himself smile. "Really. I can put on my engineer hat and be fine. I'm curious, and part of me needs to know."

"Sure," he says, "then come with me."

Kurt follows Mike into the specimen room. Along one wall stretches a long, horizontal sample in a shallow tub of the goop they use to stop the Kaiju parts from decomposing. It hums softly and Kurt sees ripples of vibration in the liquid. Mike flicks on extra lights to illuminate it. "This," he says, "is a cross section of Ba'al's armor, taken from an undamaged plate.

Kurt nods along while Mike explains the layered composition. Not only is the surface very thick and very durable, but it's got a deep layer beneath of a very strange material. "It's kind of like—" Mike laughs. "Silly Putty? The more force applied, the harder it resists, but when it's left alone, it's a viscous liquid."

"It's a non-Newtonian fluid?"

"Exactly," Mike says. "I've never seen anything like this in a biological organism."

"Self-healing armor," Kurt says. "We used to talk about that back in Lima, for the Jaegers, using memory metals, but we never worked out how to make it work in practice."

"The thing is," Mike says. "And I know this is going to sound crazy, but it's really hard to look at this and conclude it's a result of natural evolutionary processes."

"Jesus," Kurt says. "The Kaiju are more than learning how to fight us better, they're engineering themselves, somehow?"

"I don't know," Mike says. "There's so much we don't know, but that would be among my hypotheses. I wish we had more time."

*   *   *

Time is the thing they're always running short on. Kurt heads back up to his quarters. Anchorage has been designing weapon prototypes that would be able to disrupt the Kaiju's self-healing armor. The most promising avenues are sonic weapons to disrupt its atomic structure and high energy gamma ray beam weapons that can phase through the armor and damage the tissue below.

He could go to Anchorage. Except for the time aspect. He doesn't really want to do this any longer—doesn't want to return to J-Tech to daydream up new Jaeger systems that—limited by time—cannot be implemented soon enough. It's got him feeling powerless again.

He calls his Dad. He needs to understand the current state of the political side of it all. He hasn't been watching the news or paying attention since he woke up.

His Dad tells him, in confidence, there may be a political shitstorm coming for UN Ambassador Taylor.

"Well, I never liked that guy," Kurt says.

"You're gonna like him even less," his Dad says, and he explains how he's working behind the scenes to put together a Congressional investigation into a credible leak of information that the powers that be know very well the Wall of Life isn't a solution, and the disturbing degree to which they are ready to abandon Pacific coastlines and islands and all the people who live there.

"Those aren't just rumors made up by that crazy conspiracy blogger, JBI?"

"Apparently not," his Dad says. "Turns out our esteemed Ambassador Taylor isn't as dumb as he pretends to be. Our whistle blower has given us documents detailing a three hundred mile inland safe zone and a proposal to return to nuclear arms once the Jaeger program peters out. Because—" his Dad laughs humorlessly, "—it's cheaper to use the bombs we've got, and the rest of the world's economies are starting to feel the pain of supporting the PPDC."

"Jesus," Kurt says. "That doesn't mean..."

"I know," his Dad says.

*   *   *

He goes to find Blaine. "I want to do that interview with Marley, do you have her contact information?" He's honor bound not to tell her about the investigation yet, but his Dad said he could let her know something's coming, and he'll give her his first interview when the time comes.

In the meantime, Kurt wants to help Marley get that documentary made. Public opinion will matter on this. He knows there are people out there who will agree with Taylor and his colleagues. The current war is too costly; it's time to make some sacrifices for the greater good. But no good of any size involves abandoning billions of people to their death.

*   *   *

Late that night, he wanders the hangar deck with Blaine and greets the night crew. He's made his decision. Leaving will be hard; this has become his home, but he can't unring the bell in his mind.

Blaine doesn't ask him to stay, and Kurt doesn't ask Blaine to come with him. Instead, he takes Blaine to bed, and wishes it didn't feel like he was saying goodbye with every kiss. He wishes for a time and place when they could give this a chance.

A chance, not a picket fence. But Kurt can imagine it easily. A cottage near the coast that needs some care to restore. Going back to school, not to do engineering maybe, but design—fashion. Starting a small boutique. Or maybe a restaurant or cafe. He imagines the two of them in a kitchen. Smiles.

Maybe they could get a cat. They'd have a library full of real, paper books, and a covered porch from which to watch the sunset.

"What are you thinking about?" Blaine asks. He's nestled against Kurt's chest, cooling down in the afterglow. Neither of them is inclined to sleep.

"A future," Kurt confesses. "With you in it."

"Will you tell me about it?" Blaine asks, and Kurt does.

They end up daydreaming a lifetime together. Blaine playing piano in local bars, teaching music to people of all ages, and volunteering with ecological restoration programs.

It's a poor substitute for an actual future. But it's a beautiful fantasy, a shared life of creation, of nurturing and healing. Kurt keeps the memory of that conversation near his heart when he gets on the plane to fly to New York.

*   *   *

**OCTOBER 2024**

Autumn finds Kurt in the stylish rooftop cocktail bar of The James Hotel overlooking the glitter of a clear Manhattan night. He's in a brand new bespoke dinner suit that he really can't afford, but he refuses to regret. Tonight is the premiere of Marley's documentary. It'll be playing on the silver screen at the Ziegfeld, and a handful of cinemas around the world, as well as streaming online.

He's sipping a cosmopolitan and looking out the window. Near him Marley's quietly freaking out and her college best friend, Unique, is soothing her. Kurt checks his phone discreetly. His "wish you were here" text to Blaine has a brief reply: "we'll all be watching tonight". Kurt hasn't seen Blaine since he left LA in July, and the months since haven't been so busy that Kurt hasn't missed him. Blaine had hoped to make it to New York tonight, but with the interim between the two most recent Breach Events a scant nine days, all remaining Jaeger crews are on high alert. With Blaine now on Mammoth Apostle's primary crew roster, riding with Dani after Elliott suffered a shoulder injury, it's impossible for him leave.

Which means, Elliott is here tonight. Kurt sees him at the bar talking with Mako Mori and Marshal Pentecost. Every retired American Ranger still standing is attending the premiere. And a few others too. Sam's here with Mercedes on his arm. He resigned his PPDC commission last month. When presented with the question: where do you want to meet the end of the world? Sam chose his family over dying on a beach.

It's a strange thing, the doom hanging over them all, and how content this room is tonight. Perhaps because it's filled with people who have done and will continue to do their best and who've made their peace with the universe. But, they're not done fighting yet.

The investigation into Ambassador Taylor blew wide open, leading to the Ambassador's resignation. The UN retracted threats of further cuts to the Jaeger program, leading China, Russia, and Japan to pool funds to launch a restoration program of its own. The Mark-4, Nova Hyperion, has been retrieved from Oblivion Bay and freighted across the ocean. Her original surviving crew are back on active duty.

"Hope your night stays clear," Kurt sends to Blaine. It's been six days since the last attack. The next could come any minute. Then he takes a photo of the gathering and sends it along too.

"Kurt Hummel," comes a warm voice from behind Kurt's shoulder. He turns to find his date, looking stunning in a strapless lavender gown.

"Quinn Fabray," he says, and opens his arms to hug her. She leans in and kisses his cheek.

"You look well," she says, and her eyes are bright. "How long has it been?"

"Nearly two years," he says. "It's so good to see you."

"Romeo's last loves," she says, her smile is equal parts sweetness and sorrow. "Seems funny now that we never rode together." She's wearing her hair in a chic pixie cut, and her gown reveals a tattoo of Romeo Blue's insignia on her right shoulder.

"You were always with us," Kurt says, and he squeezes her hand.

She squeezes back and lowers her gaze. And then Marley turns to her, "Quinn!" and they get caught catching up. It was an interview with Quinn that started Marley's documentary process.

Kurt makes his way to the bar. Elliott pulls him into a hug and a kiss. "You clean up nice," he says.

"Kurt, hello," Mako says. "It's hard to believe so many of us are here tonight. Thanks in part to you."

"My contributions were very modest and overdue," he says.

"But Miss Rose says she wouldn't have finished if not for you."

Kurt shrugs. "So tell me, what's new?"

"Not all good news," she says. "But I don't wish to spoil the evening."

"Oh dear," he says. "Please, spoil me."

She grimaces and tilts her head, indicating they should find a quieter corner. "The Shatterdome closures are going through," she says. "On that, the UN was adamant. There aren't enough Jaegers left to justify the cost of maintaining empty Shatterdomes."

"But surely—" Kurt frowns. "We're building more, surely it would make sense to maintain them with a skeleton crew."

"You'd think so. The ridiculous thing is we're going first in Anchorage. On the twelfth of this month. Eleven days."

"But you still have Jaegers in your hangar. What's happening with Gipsy and the Mark-6?"

"Relocating to Hong Kong," Mako says. "It's closest to the Breach, and Anchorage is farthest, so this is meant to be a strategic decision."

"And the proving grounds at Kodiak Island?"

"Who knows. But we should be able to finish the work in Hong Kong. That's where they're rebuilding Nova Hyperion."

"Any closer to getting in a Conn-Pod yourself?"

At that Mako smiles. "We'll see? I've been talking to the Marshal. I have my eye on Gipsy Danger. I have become quite attached to her."

"I understand," Kurt says, and he looks back at Quinn and her tattoo. Part of him, and in a way that's not entirely easy, misses it.

Then it's time to go the cinema. Kurt's still not a fan of having cameras in his face. It's strange being among the people on the red carpet to whom the press is calling questions.

Afterwards, they all stay up late in Marley's hotel suite watching MSNBC and following the overwhelmingly positive reception on social media. Critics are calling it "eye opening" and "essential viewing". Early reviews are saying, "The urgency of this challenge has never been more deftly portrayed nor with as much humanity and empathy for our world" and "Marley Rose is an artist, and her medium is the truth." The title of the documentary, _Once More_ is trending worldwide on Twitter.

Marley herself is not there with them, but at 30 Rock, doing an interview with Rachel Maddow. It's her first time being an interviewee. She's passionate and radiant with her success tonight, and Maddow lets her shine.

*   *   *

On the fourth, Kurt wakes in his D.C. apartment to a Breach Event alert. Mammoth Apostle and Striker Eureka are on their way to engage a Category III Kaiju in Kuching, Malaysia. Kurt sends a text to his office manager, Mason, to tell him he'll be late getting in to the office. Then he texts Mason's twin sister, Madison, who does media, comms, and outreach, to ask her to keep an eye on the battle and to draft a press release and an email to send out to their supporters. Then he flicks to Twitter while he shuffles to his kitchen to make coffee and does his best not to succumb to the lump of dread sitting cold in his stomach. He wishes, as he often has, that he could get a message through, but he trusts that Blaine knows Kurt's thinking of him and wishing both Jaeger crews well.

Madison texts back, "We're on it."

 _We_ is his whole staff of two in his tiny K street office. They're registered as an non-profit advocacy group. Mason and Madison are fresh out of college and Kurt relies on their optimism to keep his own morale rallied.

Kurt sits in his pajamas watching the updates. Leaves the television off—he can't stand to watch when he's this far away. He gets a sweet message from Mercedes. That helps.

But not for long. Apostle loses its plasma lance too soon: the Kaiju rushes the Jaeger, goes straight for the lance. Takes heavy, but non fatal, damage as Apostle goes down firing. Striker pulls the Kaiju off Apostle before it can land a blow to the Conn-Pod, and Apostle's escape pods are recovered promptly and safely.

CNN tweets that both Rangers Amato and Anderson are being treated for minor injuries at a local facility. Kurt hopes Blaine has an international plan on his cell phone, and then realizes Blaine won't have his cell phone on him. He calls Marshal Tibideaux directly and asks for contact information.

He gets transferred from a nurses' station to a hospital room, and then hears Blaine's voice, sounding strong and clear: "Hello?"

"Blaine, oh my god, it's so good to hear your voice."

"Hey, Kurt," Blaine says, and it sounds like it always has, as long as he's known Blaine, warm and pleased and welcoming.

"Are you— How are you and Dani?"

"We're both fine," Blaine says. "Got tossed around a bit, but no serious injuries, bumps and bruises and mild whiplash. They're not keeping us overnight."

"How can you sound so... up?"

"That'll be the pain medication," Blaine says.

"Seriously, Blaine. Even if you're okay physically..."

"I know," Blaine says, more softly. "That was—for all ninety-eight seconds of it—terrifying. I didn't know if we'd make it, so I guess right now I'm riding the high of that simple gratitude."

"You're amazing, you know that?" Kurt says.

"Thank you, Kurt." Blaine's voice cracks with emotion. "And thank you for calling. I'll be back in LA tomorrow without a Jaeger to ride. Maybe we can catch up sometime soon?"

"Pass my love on to Dani."

"Will do. Later, Kurt."

That week, emergency funding to complete the Mark-6 goes through.

The Shatterdomes start closing, and while Kurt tries to wrangle his schedule to take a trip to LA, Blaine calls him to say he's being transferred to Hong Kong. He'll be back in the States for Christmas.

*   *   *

Thanksgiving and Christmas come with intense emotion all over the country. People grow aware the holidays this year may be their last. Surprisingly, there are few riots. The nation is united in this last season of peace before the encroaching darkness.

Christmas Eve, Burt & Carole are hosting a big party in D.C. at The Hotel George. Jane Hayward, his father's ambitious young deputy chief of staff, is nearly run off her fashionable stacked heel loafers putting it together. Kurt helps her out as much as he can. It keeps him busy; it keeps him distracted. He likes her energy and her efficiency and her utter refusal to despair. The world needs more of that.

The twentieth of December, the Los Angeles Shatterdome closes after Diablo Intercept—transferred to LA after Lima, Peru ended operations in October—falls. It was the last Jaeger left from its Lima based strike group of three.

All remaining Jaegers are sent to Sydney and Hong Kong.

*   *   *

Kurt's nursing a warming glass of champagne and nibbling a mini spinach and red pepper quiche while listening to Ambassador Oh from South Korea tell him the story of Nova Hyperion's crew, Pang So-Yi and An Yuna. Kurt knew both young women were aspiring Olympic fencers and bitter rivals prior to becoming Rangers, but he didn't know the details of their story, and so he listens with great interest, encouraged to know these two pilots will be back in the fight soon.

"It's the most amazing story of selfless heroism," Ambassador Oh says. "Though they were competing for the last position on our Olympic fencing team—and you must understand, they were competing the very day the Kaiju Harridan came ashore. The venue was on the water. So-Yi had the advantage in the match when the alarm went off.

"The Kaiju came so fast, there was so little warning, people fled on foot. In the panic, So-Yi slipped and fell. She hit her head and lay unconscious as the people ran past her. When Yuna realized So-Yi had fallen behind, she turned around and she ran back to the arena to rescue her rival just as Harridan came ashore. Yuna ran toward the monster to save a girl she believed to be her most fierce adversary. They survived the night and went to train together. They've not been apart since."

"Amazing," Kurt says. And before he can say anything more Jane pops up at Kurt's elbow. "Please excuse the interruption, Ambassador. Mr. Hummel, there's a man here to see you, but he's not on the guest list. He's insisting on speaking to you directly."

"Excuse me," Kurt says, and, intrigued, follows Jane to the hotel lobby.

Where he finds Blaine, in a nicely tailored gray flannel suit, inspecting an enormous festive arrangement of holly and poinsettia. Kurt is caught between two impulses: break into a run, or stop and stare. They've been in contact almost every day, but mostly via phone calls and text messages. Kurt struggles to remember exactly how long it's been since he's seen Blaine's face. Does he look older? His jaw seems sharper than memory, and his spine straight as always but somehow more settled. When he catches sight of Kurt and breaks into that beautiful, warm grin, the creases around his eyes are deep and so dear— "Blaine!" Kurt says and rushes over to embrace him.

"You know him, then," Jane says.

"Jane," Kurt says, and he pulls away from Blaine, breathless and reeling so pleasantly. "This is Blaine Anderson, he was one of Mammoth Apostle's crew."

"Oh, you're _that_ Blaine Anderson," she says, and cocks her head. "Somehow I thought you'd be taller."

"I get that a lot," Blaine says, and offers a hand to Jane. "It's a pleasure to meet you Miss Hayward." And then to Kurt he says, "Can we talk somewhere?"

Kurt grabs his coat, excuses himself with his Dad and Carole and goes with Blaine out on to the street. They head up E Street toward Union Station's great arched facade. Along the street, the trees glimmer and sparkle with lights, and the air holds a bite and smells faintly of snow. City lights illuminate the pinkish belly of the cloud cover. Flurries are predicted for the night.

"So how are you?" Kurt asks.

"Very well," Blaine says. "But I'm actually here on business tonight, though perhaps we can make time for some pleasure too?"

"I hope so," Kurt says, leaning into Blaine with his shoulder. "But business first, please. What are you doing in Hong Kong?"

"I am part of a venture—an operation, really, but we're keeping the fine details fairly quiet for now—need to know basis—while we get it all together. That is, Marshal Pentecost, having evaluated all our options, is readying everything he's got left to make an assault directly on the Breach with the intention of closing it for good."

"I'm listening," Kurt says. "Though it's never worked before."

"No, but we know more than we did then. His science team believes we can get this done now. And we need to do it soon."

"All right, so how can I help?"

"Well," Blaine smiles. "I've been assigned to a new Jaeger, it's a Mark-6 machine. You may have heard of it."

"Vector Neon's finished?" Kurt says. "Oh, Mako didn't tell me!"

Blaine's smile turns impish. "She didn't want to spoil my fun."

"Okay, and who are you piloting with? Dani? Or—Mako maybe? Is Sam coming back?"

"How's your leg, Kurt?"

"Oh, it's—" Kurt stops walking and glances down. Hasn't had the slightest twinge of pain in months now. "Fine. I'm totally fine."

Blaine stops, too, and stays silent. A pair of tiny snowflakes tumble down between them. One catches in Blaine's hair, bright against the dark until it melts away into nothing. Kurt's heart stalls on the verge of its next beat as he understands why Blaine's come. He dares to meet Blaine's gaze.

"You're my first choice to be my co-pilot, Kurt. You know Vector, you know me, you have experience, and I'm sure we're Drift compatible, and I—" Blaine breaks off with shining eyes. His voice softens and he takes Kurt's hands. "If this is to be the end of all things, I want it to be you by my side," he says, with all the intensity of a marriage proposal.

"Blaine, I..." Kurt blinks in shock. He didn't expect to see Blaine today, let alone be asked this question. His fingers flex restlessly around Blaine's, but he makes himself hang on.

Blaine takes another breath, a deep one, and lets it out slowly. He doesn't seem nervous, though, just serene. "Though, there's something you should know before you answer me," Blaine says.

"What's that?" Kurt asks faintly.

"You should know that I've been falling in love with you since you walked into the cafeteria in LA that first night."

"Oh god..." Kurt says, and his heart is doing something that feels like simultaneously trying to stop and beat itself out of his chest. "Oh, I—" Kurt hiccups a sob and his eyes blur. "Damn onions," he mutters under his breath. Blaine gives him a quizzical look but doesn't ask. Kurt retrieves one hand to wipe under his eyes with the edge of his coat sleeve. "Blaine."

"Do you need some time or space to process or..." Now Blaine looks worried.

The truth of it is, the world is ending. Blaine's offering him one last chance to get out there and rage against the dying of the light. One last chance to save it, maybe even to save it for himself. He wants to be by Blaine's side, fighting for a chance, no matter the result. Kurt smiles. "Quinn once told me, love makes the Drift strongest."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes."

*   *   *

New Year's day, Kurt arrives in Hong Kong with Blaine. It's the same day Mutavore breaks through the wall in Sydney, wrecks Vulcan Specter and Echo Saber before Striker Eureka takes it down.

Mako greets them at the helipad, and takes Kurt's hand in both of hers. "I'm so glad you've come," she says. "I'm sorry Marshal Pentecost isn't here to meet you," she adds. "He was very supportive of Blaine's choice. He is away seeking Gipsy's last pilot."

"Raleigh Beckett?" Kurt asks.

Mako's smile is slight, but unmistakable. "Yes."

"Wow," Kurt says. The man's been a ghost since Knifehead's attack, but he proved himself an indomitable warrior. If he's coming back to pilot Gipsy Danger—Kurt likes their chances.

She takes them inside and straight to see Vector Neon. She's an elegant machine for her size, carries the memory of Tacit Ronin in her lean lines and her her retractable sonic fang blades. On her shoulder is mounted the new pulse beam cannon. Blaine tells Kurt, "She has a plasma sword tucked up her sleeve, too. It's kind of like a lightsaber?"

Kurt laughs.

"My idea actually," Mako says. "Every Jaeger in this fight needs a weapon of last resort. Our K-Science team here is predicting that we will be seeing a Double Event soon."

Two Kaijus coming through the Breach together—Kurt raises his eyebrows. The possibility of such a thing has never before been under serious consideration. "Sam will be fascinated," Kurt says. Blaine barks a laugh and covers his mouth. It's not actually funny.

Kurt looks back up at Vector. She's already so familiar to him, for her shape has haunted his dreams for years. Standing before her, he's both awed and humbled. All those late nights at his desk in Lima, he never believed he'd see her made, let alone be one of her crew. He wonders if he's supposed to be afraid now. He's not.

Mako shows them the other Jaegers in the hangar, and explains how this—the increasing Kaiju traffic through the Breach—is what will afford them the opportunity to close it. "We believe," she says, "this will lead to a stabilization of the Breach, at which point we can carry a bomb down its open throat and disrupt its structure for good."

"Who's carrying the bomb?" Kurt asks.

"The Hansens have volunteered. Striker is still our fastest."

Kurt nods and looks around the hangar. A Jaeger stands in every launch bay: Gipsy Danger, the just arrived Striker Eureka, Cherno Alpha, Crimson Typhoon, Nova Hyperion, and Vector Neon. They number six, just like Kurt had wanted to see in Los Angeles.

Just one thing left to do, really. Make sure he and Blaine are Drift compatible.

Kurt isn't tired, so they drop off his things in quarters even more austere than those he had in LA. Then Mako takes them straight upstairs to the Drivesuit room. They're going to be getting straight into Vector's Conn-Pod. No time to waste.

Strange being snapped into the new Drivesuits: they're both lighter and tighter. Even more strange that it's not Dottie and Trent suiting them up. For an instant Kurt turns his head with a passive expectation to see Finn. The swell of grief is intense, but fleeting. He lets it pass with a soft note of gratitude for the memory. It's Blaine who smiles back at him. Kurt reaches a gloved hand out to him, squeezes his fingers, and exhales.

They take the short walk to the Conn-Pod. Mako's gone back downstairs to LOCCENT, ready to monitor their neural sync. "I'll take the left side," Blaine says, so Kurt takes the right. The difference in the cradle is marked: it moves smoothly and with a wider degree of motion.

Kurt puts on his helmet and looks at Blaine as the relay gel fills their suits. Then he reaches up to the control panel and taps the command to initiate the neural bridge. His finger hovers above the button to execute.

"Ready?"

"I am."


	16. Chapter 16

**12 JANUARY 2026**

The cool ocean breeze shuffles through the sunny room; it takes the stench of turpentine with it. Kurt's bent over a pair of sawhorses, scraping sticky wads of baby blue paint off old knotty pine paneling. Each swipe reveals hints of the blonde grain beneath the old paint. On a coffee table draped in a spattered drop cloth, his portable radio sits, tuned to the coverage of the day in San Francisco. His father and Carole are up there to join the celebration. Tens of thousands of people from all over the world have come to San Francisco. His parents will be driving down for a visit tomorrow.

_"Today marks the first anniversary of Operation Pitfall and the end of the Kaiju War. The day we closed the Breach. We're here covering the celebrations in San Francisco at the construction site of the new Golden Gate Bridge. With me is Ohio Congressman Burt Hummel, who, you all will remember, was instrumental in helping the PPDC turn the tide back. Is it true, Congressman, that you're planning a Senate Campaign this year?"_

_"Ah, come on, Will, you know how this game works, I'm not going to answer that question yet."_

_"It's January, and an auspicious day for such an announcement. If you have one."_

_"And that's why I'm not going to answer. The attention shouldn't be on me, but the folks who actually made this day a reality."_

Kurt smiles, and wipes a hand off on his t-shirt before stretching his back and reaching for his drink bottle. He's glad he's not in San Francisco today, having to field questions about his father's plans, or answer questions about Finn or his mother—or even the day they won. He's wanted to take the day for himself. Kurt still prefers to honor his personal memorials in less public displays. What he misses from the war, he won't find at a national celebration: the friendships and camaraderie, the steadfast will to make it through the night no matter what befell them—and of course Finn.

This morning, he mounted Finn's flight jacket behind glass and hung it in his small (but growing) library over the desk. It's important to Kurt to honor Finn's memory in actions more than artifacts, but this is the exception that feels right.

He keeps in touch with his friends in his own way. After the victory they all scattered, off to find their individual paths back to lives they'd never dared to plan for.

Even today, they're apart. Mako is in Tokyo with Pentecost and Becket, Elliott and Dani are in Los Angeles with many of the old Shatterdome crew—they're turning Mammoth Apostle into an offshore memorial at Santa Monica. Marley and Quinn are in New York. Mercedes is in Kentucky with Sam, visiting his family. And Blaine—Blaine is driving up from Los Angeles. Kurt looks at the angle of the sun. Blaine's overdue. They want to make it to the sunset vigil on Monterey Beach tonight.

_"All right," says Will Schuester, Buzzfeed's radio correspondent. "Let's move on then. We have some other special guests with us tonight. I hope some of you are tuning in online to watch this. There's going to be fireworks to go with the concert! But first, the Wei Tang brothers are here with me now, all the way from Hong Kong, to tell us about their memories of that fateful day, one year ago. The world watched as they helped push back the last assault of the invading Kaiju into our planet."_

Other Jaegers are becoming memorials today as well. Cherno's found her way to Moscow, where the Kaidonovskys celebrate the day. Nova's on display in Seoul. Striker, Vector, Gipsy and Typhoon remain at the Hong Kong Shatterdome, which the UN is designating a World Heritage Site. The Jaegers still bear their damage from the day they closed the Breach.

The Shatterdome in Hong Kong has become a museum to the final days of the Kaiju War. The skulls of Otachi and Leatherback are mounted in the hangar there too, trophies of the Double Breach Event that threatened Hong Kong in advance of the final assault. The two Category IV Kaiju never made it past the Miracle Mile.

Hard fought—Kurt remembers it well. Four Jaegers held the line, with Gipsy and Striker in reserve.

Vector Neon had carried him and Blaine into the fight alongside Cherno Alpha against Leatherback. They were one mind and one body with the machine, and the Kaiju had no defense against the new weaponry. But it's funny—Kurt smiles—he still thinks of Romeo Blue first when he thinks about his time fighting.

The PPDC donated Romeo Blue to The Smithsonian last summer, and ever since there's been a heated national discussion about taking Romeo Blue's wreck from Oblivion Bay to Washington D.C. Establishing a memorial on the east coast has undeniable merit, but this coast was always Romeo's home. So Kurt remains ambivalent. The past months, he's enjoyed being able to drive up to visit Romeo on the days he needs to spend more time with his memories.

He glances at the clock—hopes he's got time for a shower. While he cleans his paint scraper in the turpentine, he evaluates the remaining pile of timber yet to be stripped. The living room, with its wall of windows framing the mullioned French doors that open onto the wide deck, is the last room he has to restore. Come spring, he'll be working on the garden.

His little mid-century cliffside cottage is off the grid, about a forty minute drive south of Monterey. Turned out, even with depressed housing prices, he couldn't touch anything in Monterey proper with what he'd squirreled away in savings. That he's got a mortgage now means the world truly has been saved.

Kurt hears the clank of the gate latch. Sets down his tools and goes to the screen door. It's Blaine. With a suitcase. His visits are frequent; they've been giving this a chance.

"You're late," Kurt says with a grin. He holds the door open for Blaine. Receives a kiss on the cheek in exchange.

*   *   *

That evening they stand on the beach in Monterey, side-by-side and hand-in-hand, with many others who call this part of the world home. Together they watch the sun set. No fireworks are coming at dusk, just nature's light show.

The people here are gathered in a silent vigil, to simply stand on the edge of the shore and remember. Kurt holds tight to Blaine's hand and he remembers his mother and Finn. His Aunt Mildred and Chris Hudson. Others whom he knew less well or never had the chance to know. His eyes stay dry, and his heart, though it will always miss the ones he's loved and lost, is full of peace.

Later, they walk along Cannery Row. Here there are celebrations. Cafes and bars have flung their doors wide, and tables flow out into the street. Patio heaters keep the chill away. They grab a dinner they can carry with them as they walk and absorb the atmosphere of ease and gladness.

*   *   *

When they get back to the cottage, it's late and the sky is full of stars. Idly they chat as they make their way up the cracked concrete path to the front door. Kurt's left the porch lamp on to light their way.

"I saw sea lions on the rocks the other day, three of them," Kurt says as he shuffles through his keys. He looks back over his shoulder at Blaine. "One juvenile."

At that, Blaine leans in and kisses him, and Kurt loses his breath.

It's soft at first, tender and sweet. The rush of the ocean murmurs in the quiet night that surrounds them. Kurt turns his body toward Blaine and into his embrace. He leaves the keys in the lock and the screen door resting against his hip. He pulls Blaine in closer, deeper.

When they part, he sighs all the air from his lungs and toys with the bowtie at Blaine's throat. "How long are you staying this time?" Kurt asks him.

"I was hoping to stay at least until breakfast," Blaine says, warm proposition in his gaze, "but, this time? I can stay as long as you want me."

"In that case," Kurt says, "how about forever?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! <3


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